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He had been sitting thus for the last hour. p. 14 . 





Fronlispitcef 







THE AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION 

PHILADELPHIA 




New York Branch : 111 Fifth Avenue 
[Copyright, 189G, by the Aiuericau Sunday-School Union.] 





At the closing of the day, the gold is turning grey, 

And the workman is a- waiting for the bell ; 

He has done the best he may, let him put the tools away, 
There are others that will handle them as well. 

Yet stay ! 

Hear the greeting of the ending of the way. 

Ah ! surely we are one, in the march that has begun. 
Though some of us and you have gone astray ; 

King and beggar, one and all, they must answer to the call. 
And they travel to the twilight of the day. 

Then stay. 

And help us to the ending of the way. 

Now before the bell is rung, while yet the words are sung, 
0 listen to the worker’s simple lay ! 

You can gild the sordid life, bring pleasure into strife. 

You can point us to the beauty of the day ! 

God shall say, 

That you helped us to the ending of the way. 

R. L. Barth. 


n-3ifp 



CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 


The Palace of Pleasure 9 

CHAPTER H. 

An Angel Called Faith 29 

CHAPTER HI. 

Narrow is The Way 46 

CHAPTER IV. 

Through a Glass Darkly 68 

CHAPTER V. 

One Another’s Burdens 82 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Story of Sunbeam 100 


6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER VII. 

PAGE 

In the Shades of a Quiet Valley 115 

CHAPTER VHI. 

The Hill op Difficulty 130 

CHAPTER IX. 

A Cross that Proved a Shield 138 

CHAPTER X. 

A Little Wanderer 143 

CHAPTER XI. 

At the Gates of The City Celestial 152 



He had been sitting thus for the last hour Frontispiece 

PAGE 

Title Page 3 

Reverse of Title Page 4 

For Contents 5 

For Illustrations 7 

At beginning of Chapter 1 9 

At end of Chapter I 28 

At beginning of Chapter II 29 

At end of Chapter II 45 

At beginning of Chapter III 46 

At end of Chapter III 67 

At beginning of Chapter IV 68 

“ Look at me,” said Faith, his hand closing upon that of 

his little charge 73 

At end of Chapter IV 81 

At beginning of Chapter V 82 

At end of Chapter V 99 




8 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

At beginning of chapter VI 100 

“ Sunbeam said, ‘ It is a glad world,’ ” etc 101 

At end of chapter VI 112 

In the Shades of a Quiet Valley 114 

At beginning of chapter VII 115 

She drew him to her and kissed him 121 

At end of chapter VII 129 

At beginning of chapter VIII. 130 

At end of chapter VIII 137 

At beginning of chapter IX 138 

At end of chapter IX 142 

At beginning of chapter X 143 

The boy broke into yet more bitter weeping 14G 

At end of chapter X 151 

At beginning of chapter XI 152 

At end of chapter XI 178 



‘ ‘ Sing to the little children 
And they will listen well, * 

Sing grand and holy music 
For they can feel it’s spell.” 

Frances Ridley Havergal. 

“ O hearts of love ! O souls that turn 
Like sunflowers to the pure and best ! 

To you the truth is manifest.” 

Whittier. 


NCE upon a time,” as the 
cliildreii quaintly say, once 
upon a time,” there stood on 
the snnimit of a low white 
cliff, a very grand and beauti- 
ful Palace. The Palace Avliich was large and lofty, 

boasting of many towers, vast halls and endless 

(9) 



10 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


galleries, was built entirely of crystal, clear and 
shining crystal that danced and sparkled and 
gleamed a myriad gleaming colors in the siiii- 
sliine. It was like the Palace of some fairy dream. 

The white cliff upon which the Palace stood, 
rose straight as a marble wall from the calm blue 
waters of a placid sea, whose azure surface was 
never disturbed by the tossing of angry waves. 
Quiet as some sheltered lake it lay, and day after 
day the sun shone upon it, a wondrous golden 
glamour, and night after night the moon smiled 
cold and clear above its sleeping waters. 

The time was evening, and the sun was sinking 
fast. The sky was very beautiful, no artist’s 
brush, however skillful, could have reproduced its 
mellow glory. All the rosy golden west was 
decked with tiny cloudlets, soft and fleecy, and 
shaped as are cherub’s wings in some old picture 
of angel figures. There were larger clouds, too, 
pillar-like in form, grand, solemn clouds volu- 
minous and dove colored, and behind them the 
infinite azure blue of a clear, quiet sky. It was 
a beauteous scene, appealing to artistic eye and 
thoughtful mind. 


THE PALACE OF PLEASURE. H 

Over land and sea hiin<^ sometliino* more than 
the golden light o£ evening. A something to 
be deeply felt hut never adequately described, 
a wondrous charm — even the Peace of parting 

day. 

There is no sweeter time in all the twenty-four 
hours than the soft, mystic hour of sunset. Who 
is insensible to its charm, who has not felt its 
restf'uhiess f When the work of the day is done, 
and the tired heart may rest awhile, when the 
birds seek their quiet nests and the children fall 
asleep iq)on their mother’s breasts there steals 
upon the breeze a sense of quiet peace indescrib- 
able, then Heaven seems nearer earth than in the 
din and turmoil of the busy day, and there comes 
to many a restless spirit a calm such as at day- 
break it knew not. There is no sweeter time. 

It was such an hour as this. The homely lamp 
shone from the cotter’s lattice, welcoming one 
weary toiler in Babylon ; the light of the little 
seaside hamlet flickered through the dusk, the 
waves broke softly one by one upon the sandy 
shore. Bright beams from the setting sun fell 
on the untrodden snow, which blushed rosy red 


THE PILGRIM CHILE. 


n 

at their magic touch. A hush lay upon the 
wintry scene, a hush such as only evening knows ; 
all was calm and still. 

But in the Palace on the cliff dwelt neither 
rest nor quietness. Those whose home it was 
loved none of these things. Their lives were 
occupied by the pursuit of Pleasure, a keen, 
never-ending, never satisfied pursuit, and pleas- 
ure to them, meant dancing and singing, feast- 
ing, revelling, and the like. They were not 
thoughtful people nor earnest people. In the 
Palace hy the sea there was no time for thought, 
and earnestness was accounted tiresome and ill- 
bred. Its occupants lived to amuse and to be 
amused. They demanded nothing more of them- 
selves or of one another. Amusement was tlieir 
sum total of existence. Sometimes — nay often- 
times — they found that hard to attain. 

On this particular winter’s evening the Palace 
presented a scene of great brilliance. A ball and 
a banquet were about to be held, and the grand 
crystal building was crowded with wealthy and 
gorgeously attired guests. The prince whose 
noble home this Palace was, a young, rich and 


THE PALACE OF PLEASURE. 13 

gay prince, was the leader of all the revels and 
the very host for such an entertainment. The 
musicians tuned their instruments, and there 
sounded upon the polished floor the light tap of 
many heels. Pages daintily dressed in silk and 
velvet, bore in their hands great golden goblets 
filled with sparkling wine. Beautiful ladies and 
nonchalant gay cavaliers passed liither and thither 
with thoughtless jest and merry repartee. The 
warm air was heavy with the perfume of rare 
hothouse flowers. There was a soft, mellow 
glow of unseen tapers set high in jewelled candle- 
sticks. Every one said this was a most successful 
entertainment. The prince received with a com- 
placent smile a thousand congratulations upon 
its magnificent success. 

Far away from the brilliant Banqueting Hall, 
far away from the gayly dressed courtiers and the 
lights, and the music, and the flowers, was a 
certain long dusky gallery filled with great pict- 
ures in heavy gilt frames. No one had taken 
the trouble to light the lamps that hung sus- 
pended from the painted ceiling, no careful hand 
had drawn the plush curtains of the windows and 


14 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


shut out the snowy winter’s evening. It was an 
old and almost unused part of the Palace •, Its 
sombre hangings and faded portraits did not suit 
the humors of the Prince and the gay throng 
that formed his court. On this winter’s evening, 
the old gallery boasted a single occupant. 

Alone and forgotten was one solitary little 
figure. He was perched high in the deep em- 
brasure of a great window that overlooked the 
sea, his small slight form, in its sombre, old-fash- 
ioned velvet dress, scarcely visible in the fast 
waning light. He had been sitting thus for the 
last hour watching the sea of which he was never 
tired, his busy childish brain filled with a thou- 
sand quaint imaginings, his wondering childish 
eyes absorbing wistfully every detail of the calm, 
glorious, sunset picture. And now the sun having 
dropped behind the margin of the ocean leaving 
no memory but a trail of rosy light over the 
smooth waters, he still sat on, content to watch 
for the coming of a certain kind white star — the 
evening star — which always seemed to smile upon 
him. 

He was quite a little lad, but seven years old, 


THE PALACE OF PLEASURE. 15 

and he had been lame from his birth. Thoimh 

o 

often forgetful and careless of, they were not un- 
kind to him, those to whom he belonged, they 
were even fond of him in a queer sort of way ; 
but the proud childless Prince chafed when he be- 
held the limping gait and halting movements of the 
heir apparent, his dead brother’s orphan son, and 
he longed with a longing that was the sole bitter- 
ness of his otherwise cloudless life for a son of 
his own, an heir who should be strong and active 
and upright — a fit inheritor of this fine kingdom. 

Child though he was the little Prince was well 
aware of his uncle’s mortification, and to one who 
had troubled to observe must have seemed pathet- 
ic indeed the wise and thoughtful way in which 
the boy ever strove to save him from vexation. 
In his presence he took care to move as little as 
possible, and by assuming a brightness which he 
could not always feel, he reassured him as to his 
health and spirits. Angelo was peculiarly unseK- 
ish and thoughtful, his very affliction made him 
different to other children. Suffering is a won- 
drous teacher, and when she walks hand in hand 
with Patience and Purity her lessons meekly 


16 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


learned are marvellous indeed, and Suffering and 
Angelo had been companions since first the little 
lame Prince trod, with faltering baby steps, this 
rugged earth of ours. 

The rosy pathway across the sea faded, disap- 
peared. The great white star shone out in the 
quiet sky. Only the soft swish of the waves 
breaking upon the shore beneath the cliff broke 
the silence. 

Suddenly over the snow came a solitary figure. 
Angelo’s quick eyes discerned it immediately. It 
was a bent figure, an aged infirm figure. It drew 
nearer laboriously, slowly ; the little Prince saw an 
old man who bore upon his stooping shoulders a 
heavy knapsack which seemed too great a burden 
for his failing strength. 

Angelo’s big heart was always full of tender- 
ness and pity. Nothing, nobody appealed to it 
in vain. Like a well-tuned sympathetic instru- 
ment, it responded to the lightest touch. Quickly 
he slipped from the high window seat and made 
his way with accustomed steps across the now dark 
Gallery and down the broad oak stairs. A door 
communicating with the grounds of the Palace 


THE PALACE OF PLEASURE. 17 

stood open, a chill, snow-laden blast blowing 
through the entrance. Regardless of lightly shod 
feet and dainty velvet dress the little lame Prince 
ran out into the wintry world. 

The old man was plodding his way between 
high hedges of box and yew that were heavily 
encrusted with snow. His rough worn dress, and 
sandalled feet proclaimed him of humble rank. 
Angelo, full of pity, ran up to him with extended 
hands. 

^^Let me carry your knapsack,’’ he said, ^^and 
please come and rest in my home, for I am sure 
you are very tired and cold.” 

The old man did not relax his hold of the bur- 
den he bore. Raising his eyes he looked keenly, 
doubtfully, at the magnificent Palace with its 
thousand glittering lights. Then he shook his 
head. 

I thank you kindly, little sir, but this is your 
home if I mistake not ? ” 

Yes,” said the child, this is my home — the 
Palace of Pleasure. And you are very welcome 
here,” he added, with a sweet and courteous grav- 
ity that well became him. 


18 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


And is this indeed your home, sweet little 
one ? ” he asked, as though in sad wonderment as 
he followed the child into a deserted halL ‘^Can 
it be ? ’’ 

Yes, this is my home, the Palace of Pleasure,” 
Angelo answered simply. I am the nephew of 
Prince Worldly Wise. He is very rich and very 
kind to those Avho are his friends. If you will 
let me take you to him, he will give you money 
and clothes.” He held out his hand. 

And you are content to dwell in the Palace 
of Pleasure ? ” said the old man slowly. 

It is my home,” responded the child in a 
wondering tone. And is it not a beautiful 
home ? ” 

The old man’s eagle eyes swept over the tapes- 
tried walls, the quaint carvings of antique oak, 
and the windows of stained glass, with a smile 
half sad, half stern. 

Its beauty is of a very transient order,” he 
said sternly. The beauty of a short-lived day. 
Hark ye, little one, yonder edifice is built upon 
sand. That great cliff that rises so imperially 
from the sea is but composed of sand. Let a 


THE PALACE OF PLEA SUB E. 19 

few years pass, a very few years, and the waves 
of the mighty sea shall roll over the place where 
it now stands, and the great west wind shall sing 
its funeral dirge and those who dwell within it — 
ah ! they shall be seen no more.” Then seeing 
the child’s startled face, he added more gently. 
But you, we trust, will have left it ere that day ; 
stranger though you are, I recognize shining 
from your childish eyes, a pure and noble soul. 
You are meant for better things than a misspent 
life in the Palace of Pleasure.” 

He drew from his * knapsack a little harp and 
tuned its well-worn strings with tender fingers, 
as a mother puts the finishing touches to the 
toilette of a dearly loved child. 

Listen,” he said, looking earnestly, upon the 
wondering, upturned face of the little Prince. 

Listen, and I will sing to you of a home far hap- 
pier, far more glorious than the Palace of Pleasure.” 

The old man’s voice strong and tuneful rang 
out through the snowy silence with a strange 
power and pathos. The child at his side listened 
with bated breath and eager eyes. It was an old, 
old story that the minstrel sangj a story the chil- 


20 


TUE PILGRIM CHILD. 


dren know and love full well. But it was new 
to little Prince Angelo, new and wonderful and 
passing sweet. And through it all rang a con- 
vincing key-note of truth — of perfect truth that 
appealed most vividly to his trustful, innocent heart. 

Ah, it was wonderful, wonderful! He had 
never heard the like. It was like a message most 
rare, most beautiful. 

“ There came a little Child to earth 
Long ago; 

And the Angels of God proclaimed His birth, 

High and low. , 

Out in the night so calm and still 
Their song was heard 

For they knew that the Child of Bethlehem’s hill 
Was Christ the Lord. 

“ Far away in a goodly land 
Fair and bright 

Children with crowns of glory stand 
Eobed in white, 

In white more pure than the spotless snow 
And their tongues unite 

In the psalm which the Angels sang long ago. 

On Christmas night. 

‘ They sing how the Lord of that world so fair 
A Child was born 

And that they might a crown of glory wear. 

Wore a crown of thorn ; 


THE PALACE OF PLEASURE. 


21 


And in mortal weakness, in want and pain 
Came forth to die, 

That the Children of earth might forever reign 
With Him on high. 

“ He hath put on His Kingly apparel now 
In that goodly land. 

And He leads to where fountains of water flow 
That children band. 

And for evermore in their robes so fair 
And undefiled 

Those ransomed children His praise declare 
Who was once a Child.” 

The singing ceased, one chord from the silvery 
harp and all was silent. The eyes of the old way- 
farer met those of the little child. 

Oh sing me some more ! ” said Angelo, ear- 
nestly. It is so very beautiful ! ” 

If I sang night and day without ceasing, al- 
ways throughout the ages I could never show you 
how beautiful that story is, my child.” 

Tell me the name of the King, please, the 
Kino* who came and lived on earth a little Child.” 

o 

^^His name is Jesus,” answered the old man 
reverently. And He is God, the Lord God Om- 
nipotent. In His Hand are both Heaven and 
Earth.” 

I like best to think of him as a Child,” said 


22 THE PILGRIM CHILD. 

the little Prince, thoughtfully. I shall always 
think of Him as the little Child who came to 
earth long ago. It’s a nice thought, because as 
He was once a Child Himself, He knows how 
children feel — all their troubles and their joys.” 

Yes, that was the Infinite Love of our King. 
He came to earth, and lived as we live — a human 
life that He might feel with us most fully. He 
was tempted, troubled, tried. And so His sym- 
pathy is real and unbounded. He knoics. 
There is great comfort in that thought, little 
one.” 

And where is the goodly land — the land 
where the children live who have the white robes 
and the golden crowns f Will you take me there? 
Is it far ? ” 

‘‘ Not far for you, little one, I should suppose ; 
nay, it is possible that you may find the road 
short.” The old man as he spoke looked tenderly 
upon the fragile form and ethereal face of his 
small companion. But you must, if you would 
seek that goodly land, first leave the Palace of 
Pleasure.” 

Will you show me the way? I will go with 


THE PALACE OF PLEASURE. 23 

you.’’ The soft childish hand was laid confid- 
ingly in the rough palm of the old wayfarer. 

Ah ! I fain would show you/’ said the old 
man regretfully with rather a wistful smile. 

But tliat may not he. My course is almost run, 
little Prince, soon I must go hence. Your road 
and mine cannot he together. My way is ending, 
yours hut just heginning. But one will come to 
you who will guide you, one who is strong and 
patient and pure. lie will hold your hand and 
will lead you.” 

What is his name ? ” asked the wondering 
child. How shall I know him ? ” 

His name is Faith, and he is never a stranger 
to the children of the King. He is a very heau- 
tiful angel ; where he is, no evil may come. 
Through wildest storm and darkest days he is 
ever the same, calm, unshaken. You will find 
him a o-ood friend, little child.” 

But tell me, where is this city you speak of ? 
I have never heard of it. Is it far from the Pal- 
ace of Pleasure, this City ? ” 

The old man smiled at the eager words, the 
eatrer look. 

O 


24 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


Have you not read of all this in the Bible ? ” 
Angelo shook his head with a puzzled expres- 
sion. What is the Bible ? — some book? We 
have not got it in the Palace of Pleasure, my 
uncle has no hook with that name.” 

No book with that name ! ” The old man re- 
peated sadly. No book with that name ! ” 

He put his hand into his knapsack and drew 
from it a little much-worn volume. 

Listen,” he said, and I will read to you of 
the City of the great King, the city where the 
children with the white robes and the crowns of 
gold dwell. You will like to hear of the goodly 
land, little one?” 

Oh yes, indeed,” cried the child earnestly. 

Pray read of it to me, kind sir.” His little up- 
turned eager face was full of interest. Here in- 
deed was one willing to learn. The old man 
smiled, well content with such a listener, and his 
thin fingers turned the pages of the little book. 
He began to read, slowly, distinctly, dwelling 
upon the words as though he loved their sound. 

That great city, the holy Jerusalem, descend- 
ing out of heaven from God, 


THE PALACE OF PLEASURE. 


25 


Having the glory of God : and her light was 
like unto a stone most precious, even like a jas- 
per stone, clear as crystal ; . . . and the city was 
pure gold, like unto clear glass. 

And the foundations of the wall of the city 
were garnished with all manner of precious stones. 
The first foundation was jasper ; the second, sap- 
phire ; the third, a chalcedony ; the fourth, an 
emerald ; 

The fifth, sardonyx; the sixth, sardius; the 
seventh, chrysolite ; the eighth, beryl ; the ninth, 
a topaz ; the tenth, a chrysoprasus ; the eleventh, 
a jacinth ; the twelfth, an amethyst. 

And the twelve gates were twelve pearls ; every 
several gate was of one pearl : . . . 

And I saw no temple therein : for the Lord 
God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it. 

And the city had no need of the sun, neither 
of the moon, to shine in it: for the glory of 
God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light 
thereof. 

And the nations of them which are saved shall 
walk in the liglit of it : . . . 

And the gates of it shall not be shut at all by 
day : for there shall be no night there. . . . 

Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, 
and he will dwell with them, and they shall be 
his people, and God himself shall be with them, 
and he their God. 

And God shall wdpe away all tears from their 
eyes ; and there shall be no more death, neither 
sorrow^ nor crying, neither shall there be any 


26 


THE PILGRIM GUILD. 


more pain : for the former things are passed 
away. . . . 

Here are they that keep the commandments of 
God, and the faith of Jesus. 

. . . He that overcometh shall inherit all 
things ; . . . 

I beheld, and, lo, a great multitude, which no 
man could number, of all nations, and kindreds, 
and people, and tongues, stood before the throne, 
and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, 
and palms in their hands ; 

These are they which came out of great tribu- 
lation, and have washed their robes, and made 
them white in the blood of the Lamb. 

Therefore are they before the throne of God, 
and serve him day and night in his temple : and 
he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among 
them. 

They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any 
more ; neither shall the sun light on them, nor 
any heat. 

For the Lamb which is in the midst of the 
throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto 
living fountains of waters : and God shall wipe 
away all tears from their eyes.” 

The old man closed the holy Book. His eyes 
met the eager, attentive gaze of the child. 

That is the story of the Heavenly City, the 
new Jerusalem,” he said. You fain would go 
thither; is it not so, my little one?” 


THE PALACE OF PLEASUBE. 27 

Oh yes, yes ! But the children there have 
white robes and golden crowns. Who will give 
me these, and who will show me the way ? ’’ 

It is a way never sought in vain. Fear not 
but you will be guided to it. My child, would 
you like a Bible of your own in which you could 
always read the story of the King — of my King 
and yours ? ” 

Oh, sir, will you indeed give me one ! Ah, I 
shall be so glad ! so glad ! ’’ burst from the 
childish lips. 

This Bible,’’ the old man said, holding it ten- 
derly and looking upon it very lovingly, this Bible 
has been my companion through many a long 
day, many a weary night. It has given me words 
of warning, words of comfort, words of hope. It 
has cheered my loneliness and banished my fears. 
Now I am going to a land where there are no 
more tears, neither sorrow nor sighing, a land 
where sin and sickness and death are unknown. 
Give me your hand, little one, let me place this 
holy Book in it. I will gladly leave my Bible 
with you, little Prince. The Palace of Pleasure 
holds nothing half so precious — jewels and gold 


28 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


and rank can never compare with it. Read it 
carefully, thoughtfully, and it will show you the 
way to the goodly land.’’ 

The delighted child, his eager attention fixed 
upon the volume, stammered out his grateful 
thanks. His joy was unbounded. His eyes ex- 
pressed such eloquence as his baby lips could not 
frame. His little hands trembled as they care- 
fully supported the precious gift. 

Presently when he looked up he was alone. 






CHAPTER II. 


AN ANGEL CALLED FAITH. 

“ O holy trust ! O endless sense of rest ! 

Like the beloved John, 

To lay his head upon the Saviour’s breast, 
And thus to journey on ! ” 

Longfellow. 


Christian. “ Is this the way to the Celestial City ? ” 
Shepherd. “ You are just in your way ! ” 

John Bun y an. 

RADUALLY evening deepened 
into night, and the snow was fall- 
ing fast and thick upon hill and 
dale and low-lying plain, while 
overhead the sky was dark and 

lowering with not a star to break its gloom. 

( 39 ) 



80 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


But the Palace of Pleasure was a blaze of light 
and the sound of music and revels rang out from 
its many portals. 

Little Prince Angelo sat in a corner of the 
great chimney-place in the deserted gallery, por- 
ino' over a small worn book, a little book with a 
tattered cover and crumpled leaves, yellow from 
age and much usage. 

The servants had forgotten to attend to the 
lamps, but the firelight was strong and clear and 
Angelo’s young eyes quick to see. Enraptured, 
fascinated, the child read on with flushed cheek 
and eager look, his whole soul absorbed by the 
wonderful story that burst upon him for the first 
time in all the fullness of its glory and grace. 

He read (and undoubtedly a blessed power 
unseen guided his selection) of the great King 
who had left His Throne in Heaven to come 
down to earth and live the life of a humble little 
child and die a .cruel death that His people might 
be saved from sin and death, and the wonder of 
this, the exceeding wonder, overwhelmed him 
utterly, making him catch his breath with a little 
sob. 


AN ANGEL CALLED FAITH. 31 

The King must have loved His people so ! ” 
he said aloud. And He did so much for them 
— so much. And how they must love Him ! ’’ 
Great thoughts came surging into his young 
mind, great thoughts following each other, 
treading upon each other as it were, in their 
rapid sequence. 

I am one of the people He came to save,” 
he mused. He loved me, me — and I am only 
a little child, very weak, too, and useless. But 
oh, I will love Him ! ” His fair face flushed ; he 
clasped his small hands, I will love Him with 
all my heart ! ” 

wonder how I can get to the City,” he 
said presently. He spoke aloud but there was 
no one to overhear him, so that was of very little 
consequence. I wonder how I can find the 
way. I must go tliere ; it’s so beautiful, so very, 
very beautiful. And the King dwells there and 
I want to see Him so that I can tell Him how 
grateful I feel. I should like to be with those 
children witli the white robes and the golden 
harps because they see the King always. How 
happy they must be ! ” 


32 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


When he read of the children whom Jesus 
blessed, of how He took them in His arms and 
said, Suffer the little children to come unto 
me,” great tears filled his earnest eyes. 

I wish I had been on earth then,” he said. 

It was so sweet for them ; I would like to have 
been one of those children ! ” 

And then came the joyful, hopeful thought. 
But I shall see the King one day — it says so 
in the Bible, and perhaps — perhaps He will say 
those wonderful words to me.” 

The hours sped by and he heeded them not. 
He was reading the most wonderful book that 
has ever been printed. It seemed to him as he 
read with all simplicity and faith, that it was 
filled Avith messages for him — for him, himself; 
that the messages were such as suited his OAvn 
need. Ah ! what had guided his childish hand 
that he might turn these pages so specially suited 
to his need, he asked himself. The firelight 
flickered on the small velvet-clad figure, and 
glinted on the downbent head with its heavy 
brown curls and the little eager face and the wist- 
ful eyes. 


AN ANGEL CALLED FAITH, 


33 


The painted people in the great gilt frames 
looked down on the solitary child, coldly un- 
moved and indifferent. Embers falling from time 
to time on the tiled hearth, snatches of music 
from far away that echoed across the dusty 
gallery now and again, a distant voice calling 
or singing, these sounds alone broke the 
silence. 

Best of all he loved the story of The Holy 
Child — that wonderful story of infinite conde- 
scension and love, the story of the greatest sacri- 
fice the world has ever known. 

Oh ! if he might but see Him — the children’s 
Saviour — if he might but try to thank Him, in 
some small measure for all that He had done ! 
Where might he find Him who was now no longer 
The Child of Nazareth, but the King in His 
glory? 

“ Where is Thy dwelling place ? 

Is it in the realms of space, 

By Angels and just spirits trod ? 

Or is it in the bright 

And ever burning light 

Of the sun’s flaming disk that Thou art throned, O 
God ? 


3 


34 


TUE PILGRIM CHILD. 


Far in the unmeasured, unimagined Heaven, 

So distant that its light 

Could never reach our sight 

Though with the speed of thought for endless ages 
driven.” 

Far in the unmeasured, unimagined Heaven ! 
Ah ! how might he, a little child, reach that glad 
land of liirht and love ? 

Presently — it was very late — an attendant came 
to summon him to bed. 

It’s long past your bed-time,” she said care- 
lessly, but in truth I forgot you. There are 
grand doings to-night in the servants’ hall, 
Prince Angelo, as well as in the Banqueting 
rooms. Why the child’s never listening to a 
word I say to him, he’s too deep in his book ! 
What are you reading. Prince? ” 

I am reading the beautifullest book that ever 
was written,” said Angelo. And then he closed 
the old man’s Bible and put it into the breast- 
pocket of his tunic, for he shrank from the idea 
of irreverent hands touching his priceless 
treasure. 

W ell, well,” said the servant, shruerofino* her 
shoulders and laughing good-humoredly. ^^You 


AN ANGEL CALLED FAITH. 


35 


always were a queer sort of child full of dreams 
and fancies, but what you can find in that little 
old hook to please you so, puzzles me, I must 
say.’’ 

Angelo was silent. He was not used to shar- 
ing his thoughts with the unsympathetic crowd 
in which he had lived all his little life. In the 
Treasure-house of his bahy heart were locked 
many childish thoughts and fancies — dreams if 
you will — that they little guessed at, these big, 
clever, grown people with all their wisdom and 
learning. He was by force of circumstance a 
self-contained child. 

There are amongst us many such children 
though oftentimes we know it not. The beauti- 
ful baby soul of a little child is very shy, very 
sensitive. Oftentimes a young mind will puzzle 
over a mystery of its own creating, will ponder 
on a question of its own raising, when just a 
word from an older person might dispel the 
mystery or answer the question. Children know 
fears and griefs never suspected by those around 
them. Nothing can prevent this hut Trust — 
full and complete Trust — and when this exists 


36 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


between mother and child, between teacher and 
pupil, then all is well for the little one. Self- 
contained children suffer deeply ; they must. 
Men speak of childhood as the happiest time. 
Perhaps it is. Certainly in some cases it is. 
But children think move, feel more than often- 
times their elders suppose. The mind of a child 
is in embryo the mind of a man. The impres- 
sions, the beliefs of childhood bear their fruit in 
after life. Fixed ideas are as difficult to uproot 
as are deeply set plants. Ideas formed in child- 
hood will last a lifetime, nothing will readily 
eradicate them. And erroneous ideas may only 
too easily crop up in an innocent, ignorant little 
mind, ideas of Avhich the older people have no 
suspicion. Oh well it is for the trustful child 
whose mother listens with tender patience to all 
its simple thoughts, its little hopes and fears, 
who can take its every doubt to her without 
dreading an impatient rebuff or careless ridicule. 
True indeed is it, that The hand that rocks 
the cradle rides the worldT 

Angelo’s aunt was a thoroughly worldly 
woman, and in all her gay and busy social life 


AN ANGEL CALLED FAITH. 37 

there was no room for the little lame Prince, who 
was her adopted son. She was not fond of 
children. She had absolutely no sympathy with 
them. Angelo had always been left to the care 
of servants. The Princess, assured that the little 
one was well clothed and well fed, troubled no 
further about him. Even had he been strong 
and active as were other hoys, she would have 
taken but little interest in him; as it was, his 
infirmity was a source of annoyance to her and 
she was glad to avoid him. 

Angelo was very tired. The excitement of the 
evening had taxed his small strength not a little. 
So soon as his head touched the silken pillow he 
fell asleep. 

For some time his slumber was a dreamless 
one, the deep quiet sleep of exhaustion ; but 
presently there came to him a dream — a dream 
such as he had never known before — a dream 
that appeared strangely vivid and real. 

It seemed to him that he stood upon a river’s 
edge surrounded by a crowd of many people. 
The people were one and all very busy ; some 
were buying, some selling, others played games, 


88 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


or stood in groups laughing and talking with 
one another. There was dancing and singing, 
and the booths of those who sold were gayly 
decorated with ribbons and with flags. 

But though the scene was a bright one, the 
people were not all wealthy, not all gay. There 
were beggars there who whined for alms and 
who cast envious, angry glances at their richer 
neighbors and robbed them when opportunity 
afforded ; there were other beggars who strove 
to hide their rags and who shrank back ashamed 
in their pride and poverty. And there were 
gorgeously clad men and women, who wanted 
nothing that money can obtain, who yet were 
sad and unsatisfied. 

Angelo looked from face to face and recognized 
hunger and weariness and pain in many faces. 
He listened to the many voices and heard weep- 
ing and complaint and anger. 

This is not a happy place,” he said aloud. 
And almost immediately a voice answered him. 

No, there is no peace here, for this is the sun- 
less land of those who do not believe in the Kino*. 

o 

They have nauglit to make them really glad. 


AN ANGEL CALLED FAITH. 


39 


Their world is a cold and joyless one, their future 
vague and hopeless.” 

Poor things ! ” cried the child. Poor 
things ! But cannot some one teach them ? ” 

Those who will not learn cannot be tauo’ht.” 

O 

Amongst the many people stalked a grim, dark 
figure whom they spoke of fearfully in whispers 
as Death,” and whose icy touch even the most 
wretched creature there desperately strove to 
elude. But it was a grim, relentless figure, and 
from it none might escape. 

The river on the edge of which they all stood 
was dark and swollen and angry. They never 
looked at it, these busy people. But there came 
somehow to Angelo the knowledge that they all 
must sooner or later cross it, and he must cross it 
too when his time came. An inexorable judge, 
whom men called Time, drove them before him 
like a flock of helpless sheep, and never paused 
— old man and new born child seemed alike 
to him. And when Time met Death then the 
swollen river must be crossed. This was un- 
avoidable. 

What is beyond the river?” Angelo asked. 


40 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


and the voice that had spoken before immedi- 
ately answered him^ Eternity.’’ 

He did not know the meaning of that long 
word, but it seemed to his childish mind a very 
awful word. It impressed him deeply. 

He looked up and saw that in the sky which 
was otherwise dark and lowering, shone one bright 
white star. 

It is my evening star,” he thought. But the 
same voice that had spoken before said, It is 
the star of Bethlehem; it is set there to guide 
the souls of men to God.” 

But they don’t see it ; they never look up ! ” 
cried the child, distressed. And they are so sad 
and so poor ! ” 

They do not look up, because they not,” 
said the voice. And then there floated over the 
river the song of that reckless multitude : 

‘ ‘ Man’s little day in haste we spend 
And from its burning noontide send 
No glance to meet the silent end. 

“ Bowed to the earth with bitter woe^ 

Or laughing at some raree show 
We flutter idly, to and fro.” 


AN ANGEL CALLED FAITH. 41 

The singing died away. The dream faded. 
And Angelo awoke with tears upon his cheek. 

A faint white light was stealing through the 
half-closed shutters of the old room. It fell 
upon the quaint tapestry, and the oaken, carpet- 
less floor, and upon the silken hung cot of the 
little Prince. Angelo knew that day was break- 
ing. For this hour he had often lain waiting 
through long weary nights when pain had made 
sleep impossible. 

All was still. The Palace of Pleasure was 
wrapt in slumber. Only the ticking of the great 
clock in its high case at the farther end of the 
room, only the soft breaking of the little waves 
upon the sandy shore broke the silence. 

Angelo sat up in his cot, half drowsy still. 
The memory of his dream was strong upon him. 
He was full of trouble for those poor, blind, 
silly people on the river’s edge. How was it 
that they would not look up and see the star — 
the star that could lead them to God ? 

A voice called the child by his name, a clear 
sweet voice, strong and tender. 

Angelo, Angelo ! ” 


42 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


Who calls me ? ” asked the little Prince, 
astonished. He looked about him. He had 
thought himself alone. 

And then he saw that he had been mistaken. 

By the head of his little cot, stood a beautiful, 
majestic figure. In all his little life Angelo had 
never before beheld such a figure. Directly his 
childish eyes fell upon it, he knew intuitively 
that it was no ordinary earthly form. It was 
clad in white robes and about its shining, radiant 
head was set an aureole of gold, most wonderful 
to see. Set upon the shoulders were wings, 
great, strong wings, soft and snowy like the 
wings of a spotless dove. 

But Angelo could see nothing, could think of 
nothing but the face. Such a beautiful face it 
was ! Holy and true, and infinitely tender, a 
face to love and trust. When he gazed upon it 
the child’s heart grew very glad. It seemed to 
him that he had suddenly found a friend for 
whom he searched, for whom he had longed all 
through his short life. Joyfully, confidently, he 
held out his hands to the beautiful figure. 

The childish hands were taken and held, the 


AN ANGEL CALLED FAITH. 43 

beautiful figure bent over the childish form, the 
white wings shadowing it protectingly. 

Little one, the King has sent me to fetch 
you to the goodly land. I am the children’s 
Guardian Angel — an Angel called Faith.” 

At his words a feeling of perfect peace stole 
into the simple heart of Angelo, 

Oh, lead me, guide me,” he said, “ I will go 
whither thou wilt.” 

And then there came the joyful wondering 
questions. Has the King indeed sent you ; 
can it be that He thinks of a little child like 
me?” 

The words had scarcely left the baby lips when 
there came Faith’s answer. ^^The King loves 
little children ; they are the lambs of His fold. 
It was He who said ‘ Suffer the little children to 
come unto me,’ and His Divine Voice full of 
tenderness and compassion bade His disciples 
^ Feed my lambs. ^ ” 

Arise, little one,” said the Angel. Arise 
and put on this robe I have brought you, the 
white robe of Innocence, and take my hand and 
come forth with me. If you would go to the 


44 


THE PILGBIM CHILD. 


goodly land wherein the King dwells, you must 
lose no time in starting.” 

The little Prince needed no second bidding, 
waited for no persuasion. He did not doubt, 
nor question, nor waver. Quickly, joyfully, he 
obeyed the Angel’s bidding. The King had 
sent for him, the King who loved little children. 
Oh, it was all too wonderful, too beautiful ! 

The sun was rising above the margin of the 
wide blue sea, and the calm waters were glisten- 
ing and shining beneath its radiant touch when 
Angelo stepped out from the portals of the Palace 
of Pleasure. 

The Palace looked grand and beautiful in the 
clear morning light, and the journey upon which 
Angelo was about to embark lay through ways 
unexplored, unknown, ways that would perchance 
be hard and difficult. 

Older folk, accounted of men wiser and more 
learned, might have paused on the threshold of 
this new life, overcome by doubts and fears, and 
feeling that they were abandoning the certain for 
the uncertain. But there was no faintest shadow 
of doubt or fear in this baby heart. With a 


AN ANGEL CALLED FAITH. 


45 


happy look, indescribable upon his beautiful, 
trustful face, with a new glad light in his blue 
eyes, the little child set forth on his quest for the 
goodly Land where dwells the children’s King. 
For at his side walked an Angel called Faith. 






CHAPTER III. 

NARROW IS THE WAY. 

“ This world is but a rugged road 
Which leads us to the bright abode 
Of peace above : 

So let us choose that narrow Avay, 

Which leads no traveller’s foot astray 
From realms of love.” 

(Translated by Longfellow.) 

HE winter’s snow lay dense and 

thick upon the earth, and 

the winter’s wind blew shrilly 

thronu'h the bare branches of 

tlie trees when little Prince 

Angelo set forth on his journey. But the eager 
( 46 ) 



NARROW IS THE WAY. 


47 


child did not feel the cold and he stepped out boldly, 
his little confiding hand clinging to that of Faith, 
his eyes upturned to the clear blue sky above him. 

I am going to the goodly land ; I am going 
to the city of the King ! ” That was his one 
glad thought. 

And Faith answering the unspoken words told 
him, The path by which you must go is the 
same path the Holy Child trod — the stones over 
which you will stumble are the same stones that 
bruised His sacred feet.’’ 

It seemed to Angelo that they had been walk- 
ing for some time when they came to a certain 
wicket gate, beyond which lay a rough and 
narrow road across a wild and treeless plain. 
Over the gate were inscribed these words : 


This is the gate of the Lord ; 

The righteous shall enter into it.” 


Towards this open portal, Faith led the little 
Prince. Angelo drew back startled. 

Why should we go this way ? ” he asked. 
^^It is not a pleasant way. Look there — over 
yonder ! See, that is a brighter road. The way 


48 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


is wide ; there are flowers growing about it and 
I can hear birds singing. The stones have all 
been swept from the path which is smooth and 
level. Let us take that way, dear Angel.” 

And at that moment some children, richly- 
dressed, handsome, brilliant children, called laugh- 
ingly to him from the brighter way. 

Come and join us,” they said. You will 
be very happy if you will, gay and rich and care- 
less. Don’t go through that gate, the path be- 
yond it is very rough, and there is no sunshine 
to lighten the gloom. Come with us, little 
Prince.” 

But Faith, still keeping close the little fragile 
hand said : That way is not for the children 
of the King, my child, it is the Path of Pleasure, 
and those who tread it are dead while they live. 
Come you through this wicket gate on to the 
narrow road, for by this road alone can you reach 
the Celestial City. And it is indeed a joyous 
way for ^ The servants of the King will sing for 
joy of heart.’ ” 

So with a slight sigh and one backward glance 
at what seemed at the outset the fairer way. An- 


NARROW IS THE WAY, 


49 


gelo obeyed the bidding of his Guardian Angel, 
and he passed through the little gate. He could 
hear the mocking laughter of the children on the 
Path of Pleasure and his face flushed, and he 
shrank within himself sensitively, like some gentle 
wounded bird. For a few moments his head 
drooped upon his breast, his eyes were downcast. 
Then suddenly he looked up at Faith and smiled. 

This is the path the Christ Child trod, when 
he lived here below with Mary and with Joseph. 
It is the Narrow Way in which all must follow 
who would attain to the heavenly country/’ he 
said. 

Even as he spoke there came a change upon 
the scene. The gloomy gray mist lifted, the sun 
shone out bright and clear, and sweet bird voices 
flooded the silence with perfect melody. It 
seemed that in a moment winter had fled and 
spring was come. Beneath the child’s faltering 
feet, there sprang up, in place of the rough stones, 
the sweetest wild flowers he had ever beheld. 

Yes, stoop to pluck them,” said Faith, 
gently ; they are the flowers of Hope and Love. 
The King has planted them in your path. He 

4 


50 


THE PILGBIM CHILD. 


never forgets His own, He wishes His children to 
be very happy.” 

Presently Angelo paused, his little hands filled 
with the fragrant flowers. 

Oh ! ” he cried, amazed. It is wonderful, 
so wonderful ! I can understand what the birds 
say, I know the meaning of their song. I never 
knew it before.” 

And what is the meaning ? ” 

It is ^ God is love/ ” said the child, softly. 

They keep singing that over and over again ! 
’Tis always the same ^ God is love.’ ” 

Never close your ears to that song, little 
child,” said Faith. Believe it always — always.” 

“ One unquestioned text we read 
All doubt beyond, all fear above, 

Nor crackling pile nor cursing creed 
Can burner blot it : ‘ God is Love.’ ” 

The way grew rougher presently, the sky 
darker. The flowers and the birds were left be- 
hind. But still the baby hands of Angelo 
clasped the precious blossoms of Hope and Love, 
and often when he grew weary their fragrance 
cheered and comforted him. And the birds’ 


NABBOW IS THE WAY. 


51 


song ! The memory of it never left him. God 
is love.’’ Oh glad, oh gracious message ! Surely 
no sweeter tidings ever fell on mortal ears. 
Happy birds ! A glorious psean theirs. 

Presently Angelo found himself no longer 
alone with Faith. Others trod with him the Nar- 
row Way, others — a multitude whom he could not 
number ! One by one they pressed on. There 
were many of them, yet each one was alone, a 
solitary figure, so it seemed to Angelo. And 
though by each several pilgrim walked his 
Guardian Angel, many a one there seemed 
totally unaware of the sweet presence overshad- 
owing him. 

I wonder the Guardian Angels do not grow 
weary of their charges,’' thought Angelo. It 
must be hard for them to care for people who 
never seem to see nor hear them. What patient 
Angels they must be ! ” 

Faith^answered his thought at once. 

Patient and long-suffering,” he said. And 
very pitiful. They stay with their charges to 
the end. It is the King’s command.” 

Among the pilgrims were people of all ages 


52 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


and temperaments. Old people whose trembling 
feet seemed scarce able to carry them, and who 
leaned heavily each upon his staff. Young 
people bright, confident, full of life. Little, 
eager, trustful children, their faces upturned to 
the clear, blue sky, their young hearts full of 
confidence and love. Clever people, stupid 
people, weak, wavering folk of fearful heart 
and faltering steps. Brave, sweet pilgrims with 
ready hands held out to help the feeble and the 
aged pilgrims, with wide and tender sympathies 
for those who were less enlightened. The halt, 
the maimed and the blind, were there, and some 
— a great number — who had trodden the Path of 
Pleasure to find sorrow and sin, and whose Guar- 
dian Angels had led them at last on to the better 
path that was called the Narrow Way. And 
these last were very humble, for they coidd never 
forget the bitter past. 

They were all bound for the same destination. 
To reach the Celestial City was the hope of every 
heart. Some had far to go ; for others the way 
was short. Each individual person there was 
the child of the King, and each was equally dear 


NARROW IS THE WAY. 


53 


to Him. He never forgot one of them — not even 
the humblest and the weakest. He had laid down 
His blameless human life to save their sinful 
human souls, and He was waiting for them in 
the Holy City where the Narrow Way ended. 

Faith told all this to Angelo and the child 
heard him full trustfully. 

‘‘ It is no wonder/’ he said, gravely, ^Hhat the 
birds sang ^ God is love ! ’ ” 

A strange voice addressed the little Prince. 

You are very young to tread the narrow 
way alone,” it said. Are you not afraid ? ” 

Angelo looked up and met the earnest gaze of 
a young lad of some eighteen summers, a tall, 
strong fellow, whose very strength gave him com- 
passion for the evident weakness of the fragile 
child who was his fellow-traveller. 

^^Are you not afraid?” he repeated, kindly. 

Angelo smiled. 

^‘1 am not alone,” he said, smilingly. Faith 
is with me always; he never leaves me.” 

‘^1 don’t see him,” the lad remarked, doubt- 
fully. He is not visible to me.” 

I can’t understand that,” said Angelo, won- 


54 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


deringly, for I can see his face plainly, I can 
feel his hand holding mine now.’’ 

That is because you are very young and in- 
nocent,” the lad said. I have often been told 
that Faith is the Guardian Angel of innocent 
little children. He will leave you when you 
grow an older boy. This is a sceptical age. 
The life of a Christian pilgrim is full of doubts 
and fears.” He spoke sadly, wistfully. This 
Narrow Way is a rough road — very rough,” he 
added, almost passionately. 

shall ask Faith to stay with me always,” 
said little Angelo, confidently. 

Ah ! When Innocence goes you will find 
Faith will go too,” cried the lad with great bit- 
terness. 

Why should Innocence go ? ” asked the 
child, perplexed. 

Why should Innocence go ! A question in- 
deed. Ask it of me again later on, child, later 
on when you have trodden much further this 
path of life. But no, you will not ask, for you 
will have the answer in your heart.” He 
turned away with a mirthless laugh. 


NARROW IS THE WAY, 


55 


He has shaken hands with Doubt, and she 
has laid a mist upon his eyes, so that he may not 
see his Guardian Angel,'’ said Faith, sadly. If 
he beware not she will drive him from the Nar- 
row Way. He has already wandered more than 
once — hence his lost innocence. See ! even now 
his eyes are fixed on the Path of Pleasure." 

The Path of Pleasure ran parallel with the 
Narrow Way, and presented a striking contrast 
to that rugged road. Sometimes when the pil- 
grims grew disheartened they would gaze upon it 
with wistful, envious eyes, and their steps would 
falter — now and again stop short. 

The lad who had spoken to Angelo was in a 
dangerous mood when his restless gaze fell on 
that flowery way, so smooth, so sunny. The 
sound of music and revelry fell upon his 
ears. 

“ How can we guess the end of either path ! " 
he exclaimed, recklessly. Both ends are hidden. 
'Twere better surely to grasp the pleasure of the 
moment. This is the truest philosophy." He 
sprang forward j he was about to leave the Nar- 
row Way. 


56 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


Angelo was at his side in a moment, and 
caught his hand in his. 

Will you walk with me awhile ? ” he pleaded, 
gently. I fain would have your company. 
And maybe when we walk together Faith, who 
leads me, will come back to you.” 

His eager voice, his upturned, earnest face, 
above all his childish presence, touched some 
chord in the heart of the wavering lad. 

Yes, I will go with you,” he said, impulsively. 
And he put his big strong hand into the little 
weak hand. And together they turned back into 
the strait and Narrow Way. 

The Guardian Angels smiled when they be- 
held the innocent conquest. It was Faith that 
whispered : A7id a little child shall lead 

themr And the flowers of Hope and Love 
threw forth their sweetest fragrance on the gentle 
breeze. 

What is your name ? ” Angelo asked his new 
friend. 

My name is Youth,” answered the lad. My 
father Age says I am a silly fellow and too easily 
led. But I feel sure I shall not regret going 


NAlUiOW IS THE WAY. 


57 


with you, little one. There is a happier feeling 
in my heart already.” 

^^Look to your right,” whispered Angelo’s 
Guardian Angel, ^Hhere is one there who surely 
needs a cheering word.” 

And the child obeying beheld the tottering 
form of a very old woman. She was so old that 
her shuffling feet seemed scarce able to support 
her. Her dim eyes wore a strained and anxious 
expression. She clasped her pilgrim’s staff with 
a bony, trembling hand. 

Will you not lean upon me? ” said Angelo, 
very sweetly. I am little, but my shoulder is 
strong. Please put your hand upon it.” 

Gently he took the old hand and placed it upon 
his arm. 

Thank you, my dear,” said the old woman. 

I cannot see you, for I am blind. But your 
young voice is very kind. It is good to hear 
such a voice as yours. 

I have come a. long way, dear child,” she 
went on in her quavering, uncertain voice. “ It 
is full four score years since first I trod this Nar- 
row Way. And day after day I pray our King 


58 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


that He may see fit to take me home. I cannot 
tell you how my weary old heart longs for the 
Celestial City. When I pass through the Golden 
Gates, little one, I shall be old and feeble no 
longer. These faltering steps will grow strong 
and firm once more, these blind eyes will see — yes, 
see the King in His Beauty ! The way cannot be 
much longer for me, I think ? ” she concluded, 
wistfully. Then Faith spoke. 

It is well nigh ended,” he said in his 
stronof .and loving: voice. But a little more 
love, a little more trust and patience and 
he that shall come will come, and will not 
tarry ^ ” 

Ah blessed, blessed words ! ” cried the old 
pilgrim. And her blind eyes filled with tears of 

joy* 

And you will lean on me,” pleaded Angelo, 
eagerly, Oh pray do. I know Ihn only little, 
but I am a pilgrim on the same road, and while 
you are here we may walk together, may we 
not?” 

^yDear little one ! May such loving hands 
tend you, such gentle speech fall upon your ears 


NARROWIS THE WAY, 


59 


when you are old and feeble. Ah ! I doubt not 
but our King has sent you to cheer me.’’ 

When night came, the dark and chilly winter’s 
night, the pilgrims laid them down to rest. A 
rough stone was the pillow of little Prince Angelo 
and the canopy of his couch was the sapphire 
starlit vault of Heaven. But Faith whispered to 
him that the King sends a special guard of holy 
angels to watch over his sleeping servants, and 
so without any feeling of fear, he closed his eyes 
and fell asleep. 

When morning dawned, and he awoke re- 
freshed, his old companion of the previous day 
was no longer at his side. While the pilgrims 
slept, one had been among them — the King’s 
messenger — and had very gently taken the weary 
wayfarer to her rest. Angelo was glad, for he 
knew how she had longed to go. He reflected 
joyfully that she was blind no longer. She 
could see the birds and the flowers in the King’s 
garden, and the sunny faces of the white-robed 
children with the golden harps. Her eyes were 
bright, and clear, and shining as the untried eyes 
of happy youth ! 


60 


THE PILGBIM CHILD. 


She is no longer old and weak and tired/’ 
he thought. ^^That is all over forever. For- 
ever ! ” He repeated the words softly, wonder- 
ingly, beneath his breath. 

Arise, little one, and pursue your road, you 
have yet some way to go,” whispered Faith. And 
obedient to the call, Angelo followed the other 
pilgrims, as, rested and refreshed, they resumed 
their journey. 

The day’s march lay through a sandy desert, 
upon whose treeless waste the sun beat down 
with pitiless force. The short grass all dried up 
and withered, burnt the pilgrim’s lightly-shod 
feet ; there was no grateful stream of water at 
which they might quench their painful thirst, no 
wide, green tree beneath whose shade they might 
rest awhile. It was a very weary way. 

As the long hours passed by and still there 
came no change in the scene, the hearts of some 
of the pilgrims began to fail them. Those who 
were weak and timid, fell fainting to the ground. 
Renewed doubt clouded the hearts of many, 
whose eyes had never beheld the Angel Faith. 
Sullen and angry they paused by the wayside. 


NARROW IS THE WAY. 61 

Some there were who even turned back. ^^We 
are not going to be brought into a desert to die/’ 
these said. Rebellion, Discontent, and Fear 
stalked rampant among the little band. 

Yon will not turn back?” Faith asked 
Angelo, with his beautiful smile, sure of the 
answer he would receive. 

Never while you are with me,” said the child. 
And as he spoke the hard scorching ground 
beneath his feet grew softer, cooler, and a wel- 
come cloud shielded his little head from the 
burning rays of the dazzling sun. 

There was among the pilgrims one whom 
Angelo had learned to love. A certain beautiful 
white-robed figure that attracted irresistibly his 
innocent childish heart. 

Sometimes she looked at him and smiled — 
a smile of the eyes rather than of the lips, for 
hers was a sweet gravity, and the dimple rarely 
rippled on her cheek. And when she smiled Angelo 
smiled back. And so, though no words were ex- 
changed, there seemed a bond of sympathy betwixt 
these two. However hard might be the way, 
this white-robed figure pursued an unwavering 


62 


THE PILGRUI CHILD. 


course. Her feet never faltered, her hand never 
trembled. 

Nothing succeeded in turning her. 

Her motto was : 

To strive^ to seek, to find, and not to 
yield 

To the best of her ability — a human ability 
that yet for one moment never stood alone be- 
cause it was aided — sustained by a Power beyond 
the comprehension of the human heart — she lived 
up to this. Certainly, she always kept it before 
her, she never lost sight of it. Sometimes her 
weary feet stumbled, her tired heart grew faint. 
. . . But still she pressed on. 

The little Prince was glad to gaze upon her 
calm eyes and placid brow. It was like looking 
at a very beautiful picture, or reading an exqui- 
site poem. Her personality charmed his dainty^ 
childish fancy. It was a rare sweet personality, 
noble, pure, patient. It set her apart from the 
other pilgrims in his baby mind, gave her a 
special place of her own in his child-heart, a 
special place where he kept all his most precious 
treasures, guarding them jealously from the 


NARROW IS THE WAY. 63 

knowledge of those who thought they knew him 
best. 

He marvelled as he saw her self-forgetting, 
self-renouncing life, marvelled at her patience 
with wilful pilgrims, at her tenderness for those 
who were sinful and fallen. 

When at the sight of some poor soul that had 
gone out of the way, the self-satisfied pilgrims 
ostentatiously drew aside their robes as though 
fearful of contamination, and passed on by the 
other side, she went not with the others, but 
stayed with that erring one : an infinitely pitiful 
presence. The pharisaical cant, the cruel con- 
tempt of those who accounted themselves with- 
out sin ” found no echo in her pure heart. Hers 
was a very gentle mission : 

“ Raising the lowly, 

Cheering the sad, 

Finding some goodness 
Even in the bad.” 

She never seemed to think of herself, for one 
moment. All her life was devoted to the lives 
of others — merged in theirs, as it were. When 
the road was rough, she knelt to bind up the 


64 


THE PILGRIM CHILI). 


bruised and bleeding feet of her fellow-travellers, 
without so much as a thought for her own pain. 
When the way grew steep and dangerous, she 
stretched out a cool, firm hand to meet the fever- 
ish grasp of one less confident. Often she turned 
without a murmur, and went back miles and 
miles down the toilsome road, in search of some 
faint-hearted soul that had fallen by the way. 
She was always patient, always gentle. Per- 
haps she is an Angel,” thought the little Prince. 

She is no Angel,” said Faith. She is only 
a woman — one of the daughters of the King. 
She is very pure and noble, and she wears such a 
spotless dress that the other pilgrims marvelling 
call her The White Lady. Her soul is as white 
as her dress. She has washed both in the Foun- 
tain of Living Water. Speak to her, little one, 
if you will. She often needs a word of love that 
not one of those she helps will trouble to pro- 
nounce. They are so selfish in their joys and 
their sorrows, these her fellow-pilgrims. They 
never think of her, except as one who may be of 
use to them and who, when she has served their 
purpose, need be considered no more. Love is 


NARROW IS TUE WAY, 


65 


very sweet to every human heart, little Angelo. 
And even the bravest and the best need some- 
times a word of sympathy and encouragement. 
Speak lovingly to her, and she will gladly listen. 

But I am only a child,’’ urged the little 
Prince, timidly. And she is so strong and wise 
and brave ; I don’t like to speak ! ” He turned 
away with a shy gesture. 

I will give you a message for her,” said 
Faith. You may tell her that to such as she 
are spoken the glorious words ^ Well done, good 
and faithful servant,’ She Avill gladly hear that 
message. It will encourage and help her not a 
little.” 

Oh, will it, indeed ? ” cried the child. Then 
I will joyfully speak it.” He went to the side of 
the gracious white-robed figure and put his hand 
into hers. 

Dear White Lady,” he said in his clear, child- 
ish voice, Faith bids me tell you, that to such 
as you are spoken the blessed words : ^ Well 
done, good and faithfid servant; , . . enter 
thou into the joy of thy lord.’ ” 

She started at his touch, her quiet face flushed, 

5 


66 


THE PILGRIM CHILD, 


and a wonderful light came into her beautiful 
calm eyes. 

Oh ! ’’ she cried, with a catch in her breath, 
what a glorious message ! Can it really be 
for me ? ” 

Angelo nodded his little head wisely. 

Yes, it is for you,” he said simply. 

She knelt down upon the dusty path and put 
her arm about him and kissed him. 

Dear little child,” she said in a low agitated 
voice. ^^You don’t know — you cannot know 
what joy you have brought me ! ” 

‘‘ I am so glad,” responded Angelo. But 
you looked happy and calm, I did not think you 
wanted joy.” His tone expressed surprise that 
was almost wonder. 

Yes, I am calm,” she answered him thought- 
fully. Calm — and — and I suppose happy. I 
have consecrated my life — my poor worthless life 
such as it is — to the service of the King. I am 
working day after day in His vineyard — a 
wearied and unprofitable servant ! I strive — in- 
deed I strive hour by hour to do good to those 
who are dear to Him — His pilgrims. Indeed this 


NABEOW IS THE WAT, 67 

is tlie one aim and object of my life ! But 
sometimes, when I see the sin and the sorrows 
around me and feel how powerless I am — how 
powerless any human being is to avert it, my 
heart grows faint and my feet weary. And the 
suffering, the intense, the awful suffering of the 
world ! Little child, your innocent mind cannot 
imagine, cannot possibly fathom it ! To me, it 
seems dreadful — dreadful. There is no mystery 
so great as misery ! ’’ 




CHAPTER IV. 

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY. 

Look up and on, believing still 
That through the seeming mists of ill 
God’s sun of love shall shine at last 
And clear the shadows from the past ! ” 

Catherine Macready. 

!R passionate words rang out 
sharply on the still air. Angelo, 
half puzzled, half alarmed, looked 
up at her shining, earnest eyes 
and tremulous mouth. 



( 68 ) 


THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY. 69 

It was strange to see her thus distressed, 
she who was always so strong, so calm. Could 
this indeed be the gracious, radiant being who 
walked among the other pilgrims as one of a 
nobler birth, of whom he had questioned, Can 
this be an Angel ? ” His heart sank within him. 
How should he — he who was only a weak little 
child comfort her ? He had not the power, 
although the will was his. 

Timidly he stretched out his small hand, and 
stroked her down-bent, beautiful head. There 
were tears on his cheek, and it seemed that silence 
had set her seal upon him. 

Speak to her,” whispered Faith. I will 
teach you what to say.” 

And even as the voice of his Guardian Angel 
sounded in his ears, a great tenderness filled the 
innocent heart of the little Prince, a great tender- 
ness and a wondrous knowledge and ready 
words sprang to his lips. 

We shall never understand that mystery 
here — in this world,” he said. And it did not 
seem to him that he himself was speaking, but 
rather some unseen power of wisdom that sud- 


70 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


denly possessed him. The mystery of misery 
cannot he solved ^ Until the day break, and the 
shadows flee away.^ When our feet tread the 
courts of the City Celestial we shall know all — 
all, but never until then. If we strive to know 
we shall only find grief and pain, never true 
knowledge. The King does not intend that we 
shall know. You would not rebel against His 
loving decision ? ^ Through a glass darkly,^ 

that is how we see here. Through much tribula- 
tion must we enter into the kingdom of God. 
That is the only earthly answer to the mystery of 
misery. But here is one who shall guide you 
— even Faith. His lantern may illumine the 
darkest road that human feet ever trod. He can 
lead when every other hope fails. Faith, Faith, 
he is the best servant of the King. If you ask 
his guidance he will abide with you until at the 
portals of the City not made of hands, you need 
him no more ! 

“ ‘ Look up and on, believing still 

That through the seeming mists of ill 
God’s sun of love shall shine at last 
And chase the shadows from the past.’ ” 


THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY. 71 

She lifted her head and looked at him very 
earnestly. There were tears in her beautiful 
eyes, but through them shone a softer and more 
hopeful light. 

Dear little child,” she said, you speak the 
truth, I can feel that here — in my heart.” She 
laid her hand upon her breast. You are the 
King’s messenger ! ” 

The King’s messenger ! Oh what a glorious 
name ! The baby cheek flushed, the little hands 
trembled. The King’s messenger ! Could he 
indeed — he, a little weakly child — claim that 
blessed title ? 

At that moment there fell upon the silence a 
great and terrible noise, as of the roaring of wild 
beasts, and at once ensued a panic indescribable 
among the affrighted pilgrims. 

The wild beasts are upon us,” they cried. 

The wild beasts of the Prince of Darkness. 
See them come! Temptation, Vice, Despair, 
Death in Life, they are all there. And many 
besides, a myriad cruel, relentless foes 1 ” 

The cries of the terrified multitude recalled 
Angelo’s companion to herself, and once more 


72 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


she became the calm, quiet White Lady he knew. 
With reassuring words, with cool firm hands, and 
above all by her own courage and presence of 
mind, she reassured those about her. Instead of 
a passionate, pleading woman asking for light, 
Angelo beheld a ministering Angel who had 
thought and tenderness for all but herself. 

The terrible noise came nearer and was almost 
deafening. It seemed indeed as though a herd 
of wild beasts had been suddenly driven into the 
midst of the trembling pilgrim hand. 

Look at me,” said Faith, his hand closing 
upon that of his little charge. Look at me 
always and glance neither to the right nor the left. 
So shall you go on your way unharmed.” 

And Angelo thought of a story he had read 
in his precious Bible, the story of Daniel, and 
how God sent His Angel and closed the lion’s 
mouth, that they might not harm His faithful 
servant. 

No fear — no shadow of fear — touched the 
heart of the little child. 

“ Faith will keep me,” he thought, trustfully. 

I am safe with Faith.” 



Look at me,” said Faith, his hand closing upon that of liis 
little charge. 


. ’J 

^*4 



p. 72. 





TlIIiOUGII A GLASS DARKLY. 75 

And softly upon the breeze came the verse of 
a sweet old hymn : 

“ Change is our portion here : 

Yet, midst our changing lot, 

Midst withering flowers and tempest drear 
There is that changes not : 

Unchangeable Jehovah’s word. 

‘ I will be with thee,’ saith the Lord.” 

Oh/’ cried a shuddering voice in the boy’s 
ear ; oh, they will have us — they will have us ! 
Such awful monsters Ravenous, bloodthirsty, 
terrific, it is beyond the power of poor mortals to 
escape them ! ” 

Do not be afraid,” said the little Prince, his 
eyes firmly fixed upon the calm face of his 
Guardian Angel. They cannot harm you if 
you press forward looking neither to right nor 
left.” As he spoke, he held out his little hand 
groping unseeingly for that of the other pilgrim. 

The childish hand was seized in a feverish 
grasp and some one — he might not then turn his 
head to see who it was — paced the Narrow Way 
at his side. 

My name is Much Afraid/’ said the trem- 


76 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


bling voice that had spoken before. And my 
terror is so great that my shaking feet can scarce 
support my frame. Oh, the wild beasts, they are 
so awful ! Are they not indeed most terrible ? ” 

I cannot see them,” Angelo answered. 

Faith has bidden me look at him all the time, 
and turn my eyes neither to the right nor the left. 
I will hold your hand very close, poor Much Afraid, 
and Faith will lead us both. Do not fear, you 
have no need.” 

But I have come so far along the Narrow 
Way, I have passed through so much danger. It 
will be bitter indeed, if the wild beasts devour 
me at the last ! ” 

You would step out more freely but for that 
heavy burden upon your back,” said the gentle 
voice of Faith. Cast it from you, poor pilgrim, 
and never take it up again.” 

It is the burden of Doubt,” said Much 
Afraid, in a trembling voice. It has clung to 
me all the way, like some poisonous leech. I 
cannot free myself of it.” 

But Faith can free you,” said Angelo. 

Is that so ? ” asked Much Afraid, eagerly. 


THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY. 77 

Oh, little child, I beg that you will ask him to 
perform this gracious deed ! ” 

Angelo saw a very sweet and glad smile flood 
the fair face of Faith, and he knew that he had 
no need to plead. 

^^The burden has dropped from your shoul- 
ders, Much Afraid,” he said joyfully. 

Indeed it has,” replied the fearful pilgrim. 

And my heart has grown lighter already. Oh, 
you are good company, little child. I would fain 
go with you all the way to the Celestial City.” 

Keep your garments white and walk carefully 
in the Narrow Way, and that boon may be 
yours,” said Faith. And listen to a simple 
story — the story of a simple shepherd — given in 
his own words, which you may read for yourself 
in a good little book rightly called ^ Gold Dust.’ 

Listen to the story of a simple shepherd, 
given in his own words : — 

^ I forget now who it was that once said to 
me : Jean Baptiste, you are very poor ? ” — 
True. — If you fell ill, your wife and children 
would be destitute ? ” — True. — And then I felt 
anxious and uneasy for the rest of the day. 


78 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


‘ At evensong, wiser thoughts came to me, and 
I said to myself : Jean Baptiste, for more than 
thirty years you have lived in the world, you 
have never possessed anything, yet still you live 
on, and have been provided each day with nour- 
ishment, each night with repose. Of trouble, 
God has never sent you more than your share. 
Of help, the means have never failed you. To 
whom do you owe all this? To God. Jean 
Baptiste, be no longer ungrateful, and banish 
those anxious thoughts ; for what could ever 
induce you to think that the Hand from which 
you have already received so much, would close 
against you when you grow old, and have greater 
need of help ? I finished my prayer, and 
felt at peace. ’ ” 

I know the truth of that story, \feel it ! ” 
cried Much Afraid, and her voice was quite firm 
and glad. She put Angelo’s childish hand to 
her lips and said : Dear little hand, you shall 
guide me always ! ” 

But Angelo said very simply, No, Faith 
shall guide us both ! ” 

Presently after a long, long time, all grew 


THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY. 


79 


still again. The wild beasts had passed. Angelo 
was able to look at his new companion. Much 
Afraid was slight and fragile, with a gentle, 
timid face ; a woman in years, a child in appear- 
ance. Angelo’s hand tightened involuntarily 
on hers. 

Do not tremble, dear friend,” said he. 

“ ‘ Fear God and fearing God know that 
Thou hast nothing else left to fear.’ ” 

The immediate danger over, the affrighted 
pilgrims dared to speak once more. They drew 
together and conversed in low voices of the dread 
thing that had happened. They were a dimin- 
ished band, for many of their number, obstinate, 
fearful, unbelieving, had fallen a prey to the 
ravenous beasts. 

Youth did right valiant service,” said one. 

His goodly spear slew a full score of the cruel 
beasts. He is very brave.” 

And turning his head, Angelo saw the lad 
who had walked with him that morning. He 
was the same lad, yet different. His rich robe 
of worldly wealth had been cast away for the 


80 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


armor of the King’s soldier, and he held against 
his heart a shining shield, that was dented, and 
battered, and worn, yet never pierced. And on 
his face was a frank, brave smile. The restless, 
dissatisfied look, had quite gone. 

Did you fight the lions ? ” the child asked, 
with a smile. 

Yes,” said Youth, and drove them back 
successfully. The King has made me one of 
His soldiers, and I am proud to march beneath 
His banner, and to protect those weaker ones who 
are my fellow-pilgrims. But, dear little child,” 
his voice dropped, and he drew near and took 
Angelo’s small hand in liis big one, I have not 
forgotten. ... I shall never forget. Had it 
not been for you, I should have, at dawn of day, 
grown impatient and reckless and left this Nar- 
row Way for the Path of Pleasure. It was your 
influence that held me back ! ” 

Angelo,” said a sweet clear voice. And 
there stood beside him the beautiful White Lady, 
Little Angelo, I have thought much of what 
you said to me. The remembrance of your sim- 
ple words has gone with me through the burden 


THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY. 81 

and heat of this tempestuous day. It has given 
me renewed courage, fresh hope. I have beheld 
this day sin and sorrow, and that awful thing, 
suffering; my heart has been stabbed to the 
quick by the misery I could not alleviate. And 
yet through all has run one note that has saved 
the whole melody from turning to desj^air — one 
key-note most beautiful and hopeful.” 

What is the note called ? ” Angelo asked 
wonderingly. 

It is the key-note to the melody of the mys- 
tery of suffering,” said the White Lady, and it 
is called Faith.” 



6 



CHAPTER V. 


ONE another’s burdens. 


“ And if, in thy life on earth, 

In the chamber or by the hearth, 

’Mid the crowded city’s tide, 

Or high on the lone hillside, 

Thou canst cause a thought of peace, 

Or an aching heart to cease, 

Or a gleam of joy to burst 
On a soul in sadness nurst ; 

Spare not thy hand, my child ! ” 

George MacDonald. 



M 0 N G that pilgrim band were 

many who unmurmuringly bore 

very heavy burdens. These Avere 

\WfJ patient, cheerful folk, who always 

plodded on, come what might, who 

never questioned, who never looked back. 

( 82 ) 


ONE ANOTHER'S BURDENS. 83 

One was a lad in the very spring of life, upon 
whose young shoulders had been laid the burden 
of an incurable disease that could only end in 
death. He went on his way very peacefully, 
very trustfully, a smile on his pale lips, his eyes 
uplifted to the clear sky in whose azure depths 
he seemed to read some happy message. 

Another was a woman who had long bidden 
good-bye to youth, a woman who possessed 
neither charm nor attraction. It seemed that 
there could be little joy in her pale, colorless, 
commonplace life. She had an infirm aged 
mother, who, querulous and exacting, leaned 
heavily upon her, and never thanked her for her 
devoted care. Her brothers were wild, reckless 
men, who in their boyhood had left the Narrow 
Way for the Path of Pleasure, and whose selfish 
and mercenary lives were a continual strain upon 
her. It seemed, indeed, the Narrow Way was 
very narrow where this poor soul was concerned. 
And yet no word of complaint passed her lips, no 
dissatisfied murmur. Quietly and patiently she 
trod her appointed path, taking up day after day, 
with willing hands, the same old, heavy burden. 


84 


THE PILGEIM CHILD. 


To look upon her made one think of the words 
of that sympathetic poet, Avho wrote in gentle 
compassion of ^Hhat great procession of the 
unloved who not only wear the Crown of Thorns 
but must hide it . . . hide it even from them- 
selves. , . . There is for them no depth of tender- 
ness in my nature that Pity has not sounded. 
Somewhere — somewhere, love is in store for 
them. . . . Think of the griefs that die un- 
spoken ! 

“ ‘ We count the broken lyres that rest 

Where the sweet, wailing singers slumber ; 

But o’er their silent sister’s breast, 

The wild-flowers who will stoop to number ? 

A few can touch the magic string, 

And noisy Fame is proud to win them ; 

Alas for those who never sing, 

But die with all their music in them ! ’ ” 

Somewhere — somewhere love is in store for 
them, in store for all the King’s children, those 
who love and trust Him. Somewhere ? Aye, 
in the land that is not very far off, where : 

Beyo7id these voices there is 

Another there was, a poor blind orphan child, 
whose innocent blue eyes looked unseeingly upon 


ONE ANOTHER'' S BURDENS. 85 

the beautiful world around her. She might never 
behold the green spring world that brought joy 
to the hearts of other children, might never gaze 
entranced upon pink-tipped daisy and golden 
buttercup. The blue sky must be to her as some 
wondrous fairy story. The shining stars could 
never shine for her. But she was happy, quietly, 
really happy, and sometimes lifting her sightless 
eyes to a sympathetic, pitiful face she would smile 
and say : I shall be blind no more when I 

enter the Celestial City. ^ Thine eyes shall see 
the King in his heauty."^ ’’ 

These three are but examples. There were 
many such. Some indeed — and not a few — who 
bore yet heavier burdens. Among the most 
lonely were the unloved. 

And they bore their burdens cheerfully — nay, 
willingly. They were calm and quiet and 
content. 

What is the secret of these lives ? ” Angelo 
asked of his Guardian Angel, his wistful voice 
awed and low. 

And Faith said, They are The Best Be- 
loved of the King. ^ Whom the Lord loveth he 


86 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


chastmetli^ He has chosen these gentle souls 
and set them apart. They suffer here in this 
short life, it is true — ^they have a larger share of 
suffering than other pilgrims, but they suffer 
^ ayid are strong.'* Their finest faculties, their 
noblest capabilities, are brought to perfection by 
such sufferings as must crush meaner natures. 
Beneath the blast of adversity they blossom into 
flower as others — weaker, less favored — blossom 
in the sunshine. And when they reach the City 
Celestial a joy most infinite, a joy exceeding that 
of their fellow-pilgrims, shall be theirs. In the 
crowns of these patient saints — these who have 
passed through great tribulation — shall the rarest 
jewels be set. The radiancy of their white robes 
shall be wondrous to behold. Their place in 
Heaven shall be very near the King’s throne.” 

And do they know this — can they foresee it 
even now ? ” the child asked eagerly. 

That were not possible,” answered Faith, 
quietly. Like other pilgrims they only see 
^ through a glass darkly* But the King has 
sent a special peace into their sorely tried hearts, 
even the ^ peace of God, which passeth all un- 


ONE ANOTHEIVS BURDENS. 


87 


der standing And this, little child, is the 
reason of their happy confidence, their untiring 
patience. Many a one may say, and speak the 
words from the depths of a grateful heart — 

“ ‘ I often think I cannot spell 
The lesson I must learn, 

And then in weariness and doubt, 

I pray the page may turn. 

But time goes on, and soon I find 
I was learning all the while ; 

And words which seemed most dimly traced 
Shine out with rainbow smile.” 

F. R. Havergal. 

And theirs, when we come to the City Celes- 
tial, will be the brightest crowns of all ! Oh 
happy saints ! I could envy them their heavy 
burdens.” 

^^You have your own burden, Angelo, and 
you bear it right bravely. Your lame foot often 
pains you, often makes the way seem doubly 
hard.” 

^^s that a burden? It seems a very little 
one compared with those I see around me,’ the 
child responded simply. 

^^The King sends to each pilgrim a message,” 


88 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


said Faith. He says : ^ Bear ye one another's 

burdens.'* ’’ 

Ah ! I would willingly do so. But how 
can I who am only a weak little child? ” 

^^Very easily, dear one. You may bear the 
burden of the sorrowful by words of sympathy, 
you may hear the burden of the lonely by looks 
of love. And although you may not take upon 
your innocent shoulders the burden of sin, you 
may lead the sinner to the foot of the Cross and 
teach him where he may lay his load down. 
Baby hands have lightened many a burden all 
through the ages. 

“ ‘ Little words of kindness 
Little looks of love 
Make this earth an Eden 
Like the Heaven above.’ 

Little children are the special messengers of 
the King.” 

Angelo, ever quick to obey the voice of Faith, 
learned this lesson well. 

The little lame boy was as sunshine to that 
pilgrim band. 

His innocent prattle, his confiding ways, his 


ONE ANOTHER S BURDENS. 89 

boundless sympathy appealed to the hardest heart 
there. 

Many a sad soul would smile as the eager little 
hands strove to help him to bear his burden. 
And somehow at the touch of those little hands 
the burden grew strangely lighter ! Could it be 
the near presence of Faith that accomplished 
this ? The pilgrim could but put this question 
to himself. 

And best of all he would read to them from 
his little Bible, and with new hope awakening in 
their hearts, they would hear of the Peace of 
the City Celestial to which the Narrow Way 
led. 

There should be no pain there, in that blessed 
City. Neither sorrow nor sighing. God should 
wipe away the tears from every eye ! 

“ Who were these? On earth they dwelt ; 

Sinners once of Adam’s race, 

Guilt and fear and suffering felt ; 

But they were saved by sovereign grace. 

“Palms of glory, raiment bright : 

Crowns that never fade away 
Gird and deck the saints in light, 

Priests and Kings and Conquerors they.” 


90 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


To that City the King will bring us — even 
us/’ Angelo said with a child’s unquestioning 
trust. And the pilgrims answered, Amen.” 

There was one burden so very heavy, that he 
who walked beneath it was almost bowed to the 
ground. He who bore this cruel weight was an 
old, old man; his hair was snow-white, his thin 
face was scored by a myriad deep lines, and his 
sunken eyes were angry and suspicious. He had 
borne his burden always — always. When he had 
first taken it upon his back, he had been a bright 
young boy, just starting upon the road of life, 
happy, confident, full of promise. The burden 
had effected a complete change. It had clouded 
his brightness and crushed his happiness. Sus- 
picion had succeeded confidence in his heart. 
The promise of life lay blighted like a green 
sapling cut off by the frost. And this was not 
marvellous, for it was a dark and hideous burden. 
People shuddered when they looked at it. Faith 
told Angelo it was called Self. 

The old man grew visibly older day by day, 
and when the march was long, he was left far be- 
hind the other pilgrims, for he was exceedingly 


ONE A NO THEE' S B UEDENS. 91 

feeble, and the burden seemed to him to grow 
heavier every hour. 

Angelo was very sorry for him. The child’s 
tender heart filled with pity when he looked at 
the worn old figure staggering beneath its dread- 
ful load. There was to him something infinitely 
pathetic in the anxious, worn, hopeless old face, 
and the poor shuffling feet that must soon finish 
their earthly course. 

And the old man was so lonely ! After a time 
every one shunned him. With glances of dread 
and loathing at the burden of Self they could not 
induce him to cast away, the pilgrims passed 
by on the other side. Even the little children 
ran away at his approach — the burden frightened 
them. Nor was this wonderful, for indeed the 
burden was most dark and loathsome. 

One day Angelo looked in vain for the old 
figure with the heavy load. It was not with the 
pilgrim band. 

Go back a few paces,” whispered Faith, and 
you will find him. He is in sore need of your 
help.” 

The child needed no second bidding. Quickly 


92 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


he retraced the Narrow Way. Nor had he far to 
go. There, seated upon a felled tree, was the old 
man. He was bent nearly double by the burden 
his shrinking shoulders still bore. He breathed 
short and thick, with evident difficulty. 

Water, water,” he gasped. A little water 
for I3ity’s sake.” 

Faith put into Angelo’s hands a golden cup in 
which was a clear and sparkling fluid. 

It is water from the stream called Trust,” 
he said. ^^Hold it to the poor sufferer’s lips, 
and he will learn confidence in you — a con- 
fidence which may do marvellous things for 
him.” 

The old man drank eagerly. The refreshing 
draught seemed instantly to revive him. He 
breathed more freely, and a little color returned 
to his livid face. 

You are a good child,” he presently said. 

They had abandoned me to my fate — those self- 
ish, careless pilgrims yonder. I called to them 
for help and they heeded me not. A miserable 
mercenary crowd 1 ” He clenched his withered 
hand in powerless passion. 


ONE ANOTHER'S BURDENS. 93 

They did not hear you, your voice is so faint 
and weak. If you would cast away your burden/’ 
Angelo gently said, you would feel so much 
stronger, so much happier. Will you not let me 
loosen the cords that bind it ? ” 

The aged pilgrim flushed deeply, and bit his 

lip. 

The same old cry,” he sneered. Lay down 
your burden, lay down your burden ! And if I 
lay it down, this burden that I have borne all 
my days, tell me what have I left ? What can I 
get in exchange ? It is my all.” 

If you lay it down,” said Angelo, ^^the King, 
who is ever mindful of all His pilgrims, will give 
you instead His Peace, and those who possess 
that want for nothing. Oh, lay it down at the 
foot of the Cross ! ” 

And as the child spoke, there drifted on the 
breeze a gentle Angel voice, and these were the 
words it spoke : 

Oh, sad hearts and suffering I Anxious and 
weary ones ! Look to the Cross. There hung 
your King. The King of sorrowing souls, and 
more, the King of sorrows* 


94 


THE PILGBIM CHILD. 


Ajj pain and grief, tyranny and desertion, 
death and hell. He has faced them one and all, 
and tried their strength and taught them His, 
and conquered them right royally ! And since 
He hung upon the Cross sorrow is divine. God- 
like ; all things are blessed now but sin ; for all 
things excepting sin are redeemed by the life and 
death of the Son of God. Blessed are all things, 
weak as well as strong. Blessed are all days, 
dark as well as light, for all are His and He is 
ours. And all are ours, and we are His for- 
ever.” * 

Ah, I am so weary — so weary,” moaned the 
old man pitifully. 

You can never rest while you cling to that 
dreadful burden,” said the child. 

Surely I have not much further to go. I 
have come a long way — a very long way — and I 
am growing old and sorely feeble.” 

Angelo laid his little hand upon the poor bent 
shoulders. 

I pray you listen, dear Sir,” he said very 
gently. You may never enter the Celestial City 

* Charles Kingsley. 


ONE ANO THEW S B URDENS. 95 

with that burden upon your back. Faith tells 
me such a thing is impossible.” 

The old man did not speak. Covering his 
thin, worn face with his hands, he wept bitterly. 
That was all his answer. 

Oh, what can I do ? ” cried Angelo, deeply 
distressed. What can I do ? ” 

Unfasten the cords that support the burden, 
and let it fall to the ground,” whispered Faith. 

Half timidly the child essayed to do the bid- 
ding of his Guardian Angel. What if the old 
man were affronted, angry ? What if he roughly 
repelled him? 

But the tired figure offered no resistance. 
Hopelessly, despairingly, the old pilgrim sat 
there, passive as some worn-out, wearied child. 

Angelo’s quick fingers never blundered with 
their work. The cords were unloosened. The 
burden of Self fell to the ground with a heavy 
thud, and rolling away down the grassy slope, 
was lost to sight. 

And then suddenly — quite suddenly there came 
a change in the despondent figure of the pilgrim. 
The down-bent head was lifted, the bowed shoul- 


96 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


(lers were straightened, the trembling hands grew 
steady. 

The old man lifted up his face, and there was 
a smile on his lips and a wondering look in his 
eyes. 

Ah ! I am young once more ! he cried. 

This is as a new life ! ” 

And Angelo was so glad that he could not hut 
weep for joy. He thought it must be foolish to 
cry when he was pleased, but somehow he could 
not help it. The tears would have their way. 

The old man seemed to understand. 

You are a dear child,” he said, and drew 
him to his side and kissed him. You have 
done what no one else has ever succeeded in 
doing. You have rid me from the awful burden 
of Self.” 

But Angelo said — 

It was not I. No, you must thank the King 
whose instrument I Avas. If you love the King 
and trust Him you Avill grow very happy. Listen 
to what I once read in a good book ! I have re- 
membered it always because it is so sweet and 
peaceful. I am connected personality and all 


ONE ANOTHER'S BURDENS. 97 

with One who is able to subdue all things, even 
personality, to Himself : not by way of destruction 
but of appropriation, adjustment, transfiguration. 
Myself forever, this mysterious, persistent Ego, I 
am yet in the power of, under the will of, the 
supreme Ego of my Lord and Head. For His 
purposes I exist, by His Life I spiritually live. 
I think, I speak, I write, I visit, I do, I bear, as 
a member of my Head ; used by the Head for 
His idea’s execution, sustained by the Head 
with the silent infusion and pervasion of His 
Life Eternal. Across all the uneffaceable lines 
of my personality He yet writes by this parable 
of His word, the truth that I exist, whatever the 
depth and range of the existence for Him and 
by Him.” 

He was very grateful, very humble. Angelo 
thought he was too grateful and told him so in 
his pretty childish way. And presently, when 
they had talked together very happily for a little 
while, they arose and went on their way, the 
old man holding the young hand in a close 
grasp. 

Don’t leave me, little one,” said the old man. 

7 


98 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


‘‘ You have done so much for me — so very, very 
much. I could not bear to lose sight of you.’’ 

And very readily Angelo promised that he 
would not leave this old pilgrim, who was so old, 
and so feeble and who greatly needed some one to 
love him and care for him. Angelo was only 
glad to be able to helj) him. His was a very 
sympathetic nature. 

But this ready service was not long demanded 
of the little child. There came one day at even- 
ing time, down the narrow path a winged figure 
so radiant and so beautiful, that even the in- 
nocent eyes of Angelo could not bear to look 
upon it. And it took the worn hand of the old 
pilgrim from that of his child companion, and 
lifted the weary frame in its strong, gentle arms, 
and so bore it away. And the old man was not 
afraid, only very, very happy, and he called to 
Angelo : We shall meet again in the City Ce- 

lestial.” So they parted, these two, and the river 
Jordan rolled a resistless force between the 
several ways they trod. 

Angelo stood in wondering awe alone upon the 
Narrow Way, his blue eyes fixed on the golden, 


ONE ANOTHER S BURDENS. 


99 


glorious sunset sky, his baby breast heaving with 
an emotion be could not have described. 

Could that gentle presence, that beautiful 
tender Angel, be indeed Death- — Death whom 
men spoke of affrigbtedly as the Awful Inevi- 
table ? Ab ! bow gently be bad come to the 
tired old pilgrim, bow passing sweet bad been bis 
one clear call ! 

It seems to me,” mused Angelo, that in 
place of the King of Terrors, must have come 
the Angel of Love.” 





CHAPTER VI. 

THE STORY OF SUNBEAM. 

“ A singer sang a song of cheer, 

And the great world listened and smiled; 

For he sang of the love of a Father dear, 

And the trust of a little child ; 

And souls that before had forgotten to pray 
Looked up and went singing along the way.” 

“ Look for the sunlight the Lord sends into your days.” 



) not think the Angel Faith told 
Angelo that the Christian life is 
a joyless life. It has its difficul- 
ties and its dangers, hut it has, too, 
its happiness and peace, such hap- 
piness and peace as may never be found in any 

other life. There is a bright side and a grave 

(100) 






Sunbeam said, “ It is a glad world. The King has given me many beautifnl 
things, the blue sky, the birds, the flowers, I mnnf he happy.” 

p. 105. 







THE STORY OF SUNREAII. 103 

side to everything. Stand with me on yonder 
hill-top when the sun is low in the heavens at 
wane of day. The sun has sunk beneath the 
margin of the hill and the valley to eastward is 
dark Avitli shadows, and already night seems 
closing in. But look at the western valley 1 It 
is all glorious with the level light of evening 
sunshine, the cornfields shine like fields of gold, 
in the emerald grass every tiny flower and leaf 
stands out clearly and brightly. So is it with the 
Christian life. There are two sides : the shadow 
side and the sunlit side. If sin had never entered 
into the world there had been no shadowed side. 
Sin — and sin alone has touched with gloom a 
beautiful happy world.” 

The King means us to be happy. I am sure 
of that,” Angelo said, with a child’s sweet simple 
confidence. All the world seems to tell me so, the 
daisies and the buttercups, and the dear little 
birds that sing so beautifully, and the rippling 
stream, and the blue sky ; God made them all, 
and they are happy things.” 

Listen, and I will tell you a story,” said Faith, 
^^the story of Sunbeam.” 


104 


THE PILGRIM CHILE. 


Once, long years ago, there was born in a quiet 
country village a little child — a boy. He was not 
the child of wealthy parents and he was not 
beautiful, but he was a perfectly happy little baby. 
When people bent over his cradle he smiled up 
at them sweetly and confidently. He was always 
contented. He never cried like the other 
babies of the village. ^ He’s like a little sun- 
beam,’ the neighbors said. And so when he was 
named they called him ^ Sunbeam,’ and by that 
beautiful name he was known all his life. 

Sunbeam grew and prospered. Presently he 
was able to lisp out a few words and to tumble 
about with the other little children in the sweet 
new-mown hay or on the soft sand of the sea- 
shore. The other little children sometimes 
quarrelled or cried, but Sunbeam did neither. 
He was the happiest little child you ever saw. 

Years passed by and Sunbeam was ten years 
old. His curly hair was as golden as his name* 
and his sweet nature was as genial. 

^ You are always happy,’ the other children 
said to Sunbeam. ^ Why are you so happy? ’ 
Sunbeam said, ^ It is a glad world. The 


THE STORY OF SUNBEAM. 105 

King has given me many beautiful things, the 
blue sky, the birds, the flowers ; I 7nust be happy.’ 

^ But there is much sin and suffering in the 
world. Have you no fear of these things, child ? ’ 
asked one older. 

Sunbeam smiled. ^ The King will not let them 
harm me,’ he said. ^ He will keep me safe.’ 

Then he showed them the secret of his happi- 
ness — the secret of all true happiness. Unfasten- 
ing his collar he displayed a golden medal which 
was suspended from his neck with a white ribbon. 
On the medal were inscribed these words — 

^ I am the King’s.’ 

^ Is it a charm ? ’ the children asked, wonder- 
ing and awe-struck. 

‘ It is the only charm that can keep us from 
evil,’ said Sunbeam, with a sweet, grave smile on 
his thoughtful face. ^ When I was a little baby 
lying in my cradle the Angel of Love came and 
tied this treasure round my neck. No one saw 
it, for except to the wearer, it is frequently 
invisible. But it is the secret of my happiness.’ 

^ Oh, would that we might gain like treasure ! ’ 
cried one child, wistfully. 


106 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


^ You may/ answered Sunbeam. ^ It is very 
simple too — wonderfully simple. You have only 
to ask the King.’ 

^ But how shall we find Him ? ’ 

Without difficulty. He is very nigh unto 
the children. He loves them, you see.’ 

^ How shall we ask Him ? What should we 
say ? ’ the children cried anxiously. 

^ Let us kneel upon the grass and ask Him all 
together,’ said Sunbeam. And the little children 
knelt there upon the grass amid the buttercups 
and daisies, and led by Sunbeam repeated this 
simple petition : ^Lord, make me Thine.’ 

“ It was just a child’s prayer, nothing more, 
but it went up straight through the blue sky to 
the gates of Heaven, and the Angels gathered it 
in with ready hands and bore it right to the foot 
of that glorious Throne where sits the children’s 
Saviour. 

‘‘It was wonderful to the children to see how 
quickly that prayer was answered. They did 
not know the King as Sunbeam knew Him, 
and they marvelled when they rose to their 
feet to find suspended from the neck of each 


THE STORY OF SUNBEAM. 107 

child a medal like that worn by their little 
friend. 

^ I am the King’s.’ 

“ Those were the words inscribed upon each 
medal, and as the children read them, a glow of 
gladness and of new hope thrilled through each 
little heart. They knew at once why Sunbeam 
was so happy. 

The children went to their homes when the 
shades of night began to fall upon the pleasant 
fields, and the fathers and mothers marvelled 
at the great change that had come upon them. 
They were not perfect all at once. They were 
not always gentle and forbearing and patient. 
But they tried to he good, 

^ Why is this change ?’ the grown people asked, 
marvelling. And the children showed them 
their medals, and when they read the words 
inscribed upon them the fathers’ and mothers’ 
faces grew grave and thoughtful, and they 
said to one another, ^ This is a wonderful 
thing.’ 

It set them pondering, these grown people, 
and they began to think that it would be well if 


108 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


they could share a gift that had brought so much 
happiness to their children. 

We, too, would be the King’s,’ they said, ^ if 
one would show us the way.’ 

And so the children taught the fathers and 
mothers the prayer they had repeated after 
Sunbeam : 

^ Lord, make me Thine.’ 

They said it together every day, night and 
morning, and often at other times, and a wonder- 
ful happiness came to each and all. It was a 
happiness that shone in their faces, making 
homely countenances beautiful and hard hands 
soft and gentle and rough voices sweet and 
kind. 

Other people coming from afar and knowing 
naught of the story of Sunbeam wondered at the 
peace and contentment of the inhabitants of this 
quiet hamlet in the western valley, and presently 
they called their home The Happy Village. 

When Sunbeam grew older and stronger he 
had to leave that peaceful place and go out and 
work in the great world, as it is a man’s duty to 
work. He started forth with a brave heart and 


THE STORY OF SUNBEAM. 109 

happy hopeful eyes, for he took with him a 
charm against which all evil was powerless, and 
often his hand sought and clasped the golden 
medal and his lips murmured the words : 

^ I am the King’s.’ 

People told him that the world was sad and 
w'eary, full of sorrow and sin. But Sunbeam 
always answered them brightly and their gloomy 
doubts threw no shadow upon his path. 

^^^The world is very beautiful,’ he said. ^The 
Kino^ has filled it with loveliness. He wishes us 
to be happy, we have only to ask Him for the 
true secret of happiness.’ 

He showed them the medal he wore about his 
neck, and their gloomy faces grew wondering and 
curious. 

‘‘ ‘ Does it make you really happy to belong to 
the King ? ’ they said. ^ Is that the true secret of 
your happiness ? ’ 

And when Sunbeam assured them that this 
indeed was so they marvelled the more and said : 

^^Some people who call themselves Christians 
are so different to you. They are solemn and 
joyless. They look reproachfully on innocent 


110 


THE PILGRIM CHILD, 


amusements and harmless fun. They seem 
soured and miserable rather than happy.’ 

^ That is their mistake/ answered Sunbeam. 

^ The King wishes us all to be very happy. He 
gives us this beautiful world with its thousand 
— its numberless gracious and lovely things — and 
He bids us be happy. Only we must never forget 
Hinij that is all. And indeed, indeed, dear 
friends, this is well, for without Him is no true 
happiness.’ 

So Sunbeam went on his way, a glad, strong 
figure with the light of a perfect happiness shin- 
ing on his face. And wherever he went men 
looked after him marvelling and said : 

^ It is wonderful how happy he is in this world, 
where there is so much sickness and sorrow ! ’ 

There came to Sunbeam as there must come 
to each and all, his allotted portion of grief and 
trouble and worse — ah far, far worse 1 of tempta- 
tion. But on he went, on — on — his heart filled 
with a faith which nothing could extinguish, 
his lips murmuring the words, ^ I am the 
King’s.’ 

And the King who had made him a happy 


THE STORY OF SUNBEAM. HI 

little child, a glad innocent boy and a hopeful, 
confident youth, brought him safe through all, 
being very mindful of His own.” 

This is the story of Sunbeam, little Angelo,” 
said the Angel Faith. I walked beside him all 
the way of his earthly journey and knew him well. 
He was very constant to me. I never knew a 
more constant pilgrim. In his darkest day he 
but held my hand the closer.” 

“ And he was very happy,” softly said Angelo. 
V ery happy. He had the happiest heart 1 
ever saw. You know his great, glad secret ? ” 
Yes, ah yes, indeed ! It was contained in the 
words — ^ I am the King’s.’ ” 

The sun was low in the western heavens, the 
valley was filled with lovely level light. Angelo’s 
childish eyes gazed admiringly upon the beautiful 
world God had made, and his heart was filled 
with confidence and joy. 

That boy was very right,” he murmured. 

The King does love us, does wish us to be happy 
in this lovely land.” 

And so was comfort and new hope brought to 
this little pilgrim by the story of another little 


112 


THE PILGRIM CHILI). 


pilgrim who had trodden just such another path 
as his. 

“ There are nettles everywhere, 

But smooth green grasses are more common still ; 
The blue of heaven is larger than the cloud.” 



i 

4 




. H ' j 

* A 


~a»l 

I '‘J 

■y 










In the shades of a quiet valley 








CHAPTER VIL 

m THE SHADES OF A QUIET VALLEY. 

‘‘ Far o’er the mountain summit lies 
A vale of gladness ever green, 

Where feathery ferns and moss have been 
From long forgotten centuries. 

There beauty lives nor ever dies, 

But summer after summer comes 

And clothes again the mountain doities 

(115) 


116 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


With sweetness, and a soft wind sighs ; 

While down the valley runs a rill 
Of pearly water, leaping, calling 
To ferns and wild musk of the hill.” 

J. Steele Robertson. 

“ When he went also into the valley of Humiliation he 
went down as well as I ever saw a man in my life ; for 
he cared not how mean he was, so he might be happy at 
last. Yea, I think there was a kind of sympathy betwixt 
that valley and him ; for I never saw him better in all 
his pilgrimage than when he was in that valley. 

Here he would lie down, embrace the ground and kiss 
the very flowers that grew in this valley. 

(The Pilgrim'' s Progress.) 

INTER had given place to spring, 
and the long lying snow had at 
last melted beneath the soft kiss 
of the April sun. It was the 
hopeful season when — 

“ The brake and the tufted grass are high, 

And in the shades of cloisters dim 
Unconscious birds sweet requiems sing.” 

The birds were indeed melodious. Skylark 
and blackbird and finch strained their tiny- 
throats in joyous rapturous rivalry. But to An- 
gelo, listening with a child’s quick appreciation of 



IN THE SHADES OF A QUIET VALLEY. 117 

the beautiful there seemed nothing sweeter than 
the thrush’s song. 

It is like a hymn/’ he said, wonderingly. 

A hymn of Praise. I think it must be some- 
thing like the Angel’s song in the City Celestial.” 
And then in the quiet green glade with the spring 
foliage fluttering above him, and the bird’s 
melody flooding the scented air, he fell into a 
long sweet day-dream, picturing with childish 
imaginings the glories of that Heaven where the 
Angel’s song flows on eternally. 

The pilgrims’ way lay through the Valley of 
Humiliation, and to two at least, of the little 
band, it seemed a j)eaceful vale enough. 

One of these was Angelo. The little lame 
Prince had no proud spirit to quell, no vaunting 
self-esteem to contend with. His hand in that 
of Faith he went on his way trustful and happy, 
only stopping now and again to pluck the flowers 
of Love and Hope that sprang beneath his baby 
feet. 

The other was Much Afraid. Hers was a 
simple, unassuming soul, and in the Valley of 
Humiliation she met with nothing that could 


118 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


cause her suffering. She never left Angelo for 
long, and his sweet child-presence seemed to have 
banished the fears that once tormented her over- 
anxious mind. 

And betwixt these two walked the Angel called 
Faith,” teaching them very gently, very pa- 
tiently, many a wholesome lesson that other folk 
of harder heart must learn more roughly. 

The Valley of Humiliation was a shady valley. 
Great green trees threw their leafy branches 
across the path, which was smooth and verdant. 

The azure sky, so deeply, purely blue, only 
showed in tiny patches here and there amid the 
interlacing boughs. The shafts of golden sun- 
shine stealing along the grassy glades lingered 
with tender touch upon the marvellous flowers 
that grew in rich profusion everywhere. There 
was a perfect festival of flowers — flowers of all 
sorts and of all seasons. But tlie sweetest of all 
were the pure Lilies of Love, and the fragrant 
Violets of Hope. Angelo was forever stooping 
to fill his eager baby hands with these lovely 
blossoms. Some there w^ere in that pilgrim band 
who seemed unconscious of them, who even 


IN THE SHADES OF A QUIET VALLEY. 119 

crushed them beneath their careless feet. But 
the little Prince delighted in their rare beauty with 
a child’s simple love of the beautiful. For the 
willing pilgrim this Valley of Humiliation was a 
very peaceful vale. Only those who rebelled 
and doubted found it beset with dangers. Only 
those who wilfully closed their eyes were uncon- 
scious of its beauties. 

You have naught to fear in this place,” 
Faith told his charges. And the hearts of An- 
gelo and of Much Afraid grew light and confi- 
dent at his words. 

One summer’s evening, when the pilgrims 
stopped to rest, Angelo found himself beside the 
beautiful White Lady. He had often seen her 
as she went about among her fellow-travellers, 
ministering to their wants ; he had often watched 
her wonderingly, admiringly, marvelling at her 
untiring patience and gentleness. But they had 
exchanged no words of importance since that 
day when, in the Desert of Temptation, she had 
unburdened her heart to him. There was little 
time for talk, the White Lady was always so fully 
occupied. She had so many calls on her attention. 



120 the pilgrim child. 

But now, for a few moments, she allowed her- 
self to rest, and it was with a grateful sigh that 
she seated herself upon the grassy slope beneath 
a great oak tree. 

Come and talk to me,” she said, looking up 
at the little Prince. We have been but 
strangers of late ! ” 

Angelo was glad of the opportunity of speak- 
ing to her. And it seemed that she was pleased 
to meet him. 

Well, little one,” and she drew him to her 
and kissed him. And how goes it with you in 
this quiet valley ? ” 

I think it is a beautiful valley,” answered 
the child. And I am very happy.” 

Ah ! ” she said, you are right. There was 
a time when I dreaded this shady vale, when I 
feared it might be dark for me. But now I see 
the emptiness of my fears. It is the most peace- 
ful path my feet have trodden for many a long 
day. The darkness and the trouble belong to 
the past — the Calvary of the soul is over — the 
victory won. Do you know those verses ? But 
ah ! how should you, you happy child. Listen ! 



“She drew liiiii to her and kissed him.” 


j). ]2(). 




IN THE SHADES OF A QUIET VALLEY. 123 

“ God draws a cloud over each gleaming morn 
Wouldst thou ask why ? 

It is because all noblest things are born 
In agony. 

Only upon some cross of pain and woe 
God’s son may lie. 

Each soul, redeemed from self and sin must know 
Its Calvary.’ ” 

She looked up as she spoke at the far away 
blue of the sky just visible between the interlac- 
ing branches of the trees, and smiled a very sweet 
smile : Each soul redeemed f rom self and sinf 
she repeated. 

Angelo sat down beside her on the soft grass, 
and gathering the flowers of Love and Hope that 
grew all about them, the sweet fragrant violets 
and lilies of the valley, laid them in her hands. 

The White Lady took the rare blossoms up 
lovingly and fastened a bunch of them in the 
bosom of her spotless dress. 

Your gift is very welcome, little one,” she 
said. These are the fairest flowers that bloom. 
There are none others quite so fair. I think,” 
she added musingly, it must be because our King 
Himself planted them.” 


124 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


^^Ah! Did He indeed?” The little face 
flushed ; the dark eyes grew bright. 

Yes, that their pleasant perfume and delicate 
beauty might cheer the hearts of weary pilgrims. 
W e all grow tired sometimes, little one, and need 
the sweetness of Love and Hope.” 

You never seem tired,” said Angelo, wonder- 
ingly. And yet, dear White Lady, you must 
have come a long way by this Narrow Path ? ” 

A long way,” she answered thoughtfully. 

But when I first trod it I was not a little child 
like you. For many years — through all my child- 
hood — through all the best days of my girlhood 
— my feet traversed the Path of Pleasure. Un- 
thinkingly, carelessly I glided down the broad 
and sunny way without thought for the end. 
Love came to me when all my world was fair and 
sweet with the beauty of spring-tide. Together, 
hand in hand, we wandered on. Love and I, perfectly 
satisfied, perfectly happy. ... But ah ! that 
did not last. . . . There came a day when Love 
lay dead upon the path at my feet — dead and 
lifeless with an arrow in his false heart. And then 
I knew he was not Love at all, only a poor hollow 


IN THE SHADES OF A QUIET VALLEY. 125 

sham ! . . . And I ? I had given him all — my 
life’s best ! . . . Little, innocent child, I can 
never make you know what I suffered — I would 
not if I could — the knowledge would break your 
tender heart. ... I was not alone. Grief 
walked with me. His was a gaunt and hopeless 
figure. ^ Your life is passed and over,’ he said. 
^ That is, all that is good in it. The future holds 
nothing for you but a waste of weary, colorless 
years to be dragged out in loneliness and pain. 
You will do well to lie down and die.’ . . . . 
Grief was not companionless, with him was De- 
spair. . . . And I? Ah! how did I live through 
that awful time ? Then one day came to me a 
quiet, gray figure ; upon her brow was written 
Duty and in her hands were quantities and quanti- 
ties of unfinished work. ^ There is yet much 
left for you to do,’ said Duty. ^ Arise, take my 
hand, and come forth. The King has need of 
thee in His vineyard.’ Almost mechanically I fol- 
lowed where Duty led. Together we left the Path 
of Pleasure — ah, what a barren name had that 
become for me ! and entered the Narrow Way. 
^ Hold up your head,’ said Duty, ^ and go for- 


126 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


ward ; never mind if your eyes are liolden so that 
you cannot see. You are in the right path — the 
King’s highway. Follow me steadily and by and 
by we shall meet one whom men call Peace. I 
lead the way to that gentle spirit, and those who 
follow me never fail to find him. It is the King’s 
command.’ ” 

“ Faith tells me that Duty indeed spoke truly,” 
said Angelo. “And that with Peace came also 
Knowledge, which could never have been yours 
had you not passed through the Waters of Adver- 
sity.” 

“ I doubt it not,” she answered musingly, and 
then speaking to herself, rather than to her little 
companion, she quoted the words of a great and 
wide-minded thinker : 

“ ‘ It would be a poor result of all our anguish 
and wrestling if we were nothing but our own old 
selves at the end of it — if we could return to the 
same blind loves, the same self-confident blame, the 
same light thoughts of human suffering, the same 
frivolous gossip over blighted human lives, the 
same feeble sense of that Unknown towards 
which we have sent forth such irrepressible cries 


IN THE SUADES OF A QUIET VALLEY. 127 

in our loneliness. Let us rather be thankful that 
our sorrow lives in us as an indestructible force, 
only changing its form as forces do, and passing 
from pain to sympathy — the one poor word which 
includes our best insight and love.’ ” 

“ Oh, tell me more of your life story,” implored 
Angelo, when the White Lady ceased speaking. 
Pray tell me more ! ” 

The rest you know,” she softly said. You 
have seen for yourself how it now is with me. 
Duty spoke truly. She led me to Peace. And 
now he is my gentle Guardian Angel.” 

The sweet spring day was departing. A tender 
evening breeze touched the violets and the lilies, 
those blossoms of Hope and Love, and all the 
valley was sweet with their fragrance. A thrush 
was singing in the hawthorn tree hard by ; his 
thrilling song flooded the glade with matchless 
melody. All was very calm and still. It was 
one of those moments when Heaven seems 
strangely near to earth, when the soul is the liv- 
ing, aspiring, soaring creature, and the body but 
the prison that contains it — the tenement of a 
day. 


128 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


The setting sun threw bright shafts of golden 
light down the grassy avenue. They touched 
the spotless robes of the White Lady and fell in 
their fullest radiance upon her lovely, quiet, up- 
turned face. 

Sometimes the way seems long,’’ she said, 

and passing Aveary. But, I have learned to 
trust Him — the Holy One whose sacred feet have 
trodden it all. I can say ^ My times are in thy 
hand. ’ ” 

Angelo’s little hand gently touched hers. He 
had glad tidings for her. 

Faith tells me that your probation is well 
nigh over and that soon you will leave the Narrow 
Way for the beautiful City Celestial,” he said. 

And so in the hush of the sweet spring even- 
ing, from the mouth of a little child came the 
first echo of the one clear call to this patient 
pilgrim. 

She put her lips to the little hand and her 
tears of joy fell fast upon it. 

I thank the King for His message ! ” she 
said. To see the King in His Beauty ! Ah 
what joy, what joy ! 


IN THE SHADES OF A QUIET VALLEY. 129 


‘ ‘ ‘ For ah ! the Master is so fair, 

His smile so sweet to banish men, 
That they who meet it unaware 
Can never rest on earth again ! ’ ” 



9 





CHAPTER YIII. 

THE HILL OF DIFFICULTY. 

“ Nay, falter not, O heart — my little light is light ; 
And thou thyself, who art 
The poetry of the human heart, 

Who knowest all my weakness, and the lie 
Within me, and my love’s desparing cry. 

Who gavest wings, teach Thou me how to fly 
On high for evermore, and evermore on high ! ” 

Maarten Maartens. 

( 130 ) 


THE HILL OF DIFFICULTY. 131 

EYOND the Valley of Humilia- 
tion rose, sharp and steep, a 
rugged hill. The pilgrims rec- 
ognized this as the Hill of Diffi- 
culty and with fearful hearts they 
saw that the Narrow Way led up its steep side, 
and that it became on this hill a narrower way 
than ever before. 

The prospect was alarming, many a step fal- 
tered^ many a soul quailed. 

^^We can never mount that steep incline!” 
cried one timorous pilgrim. 

Surely we shall lose our footing, and be 
dashed to the ground and crushed,” shuddered 
another. 

Your fear magnifies the danger,” said Youth, 
turning on them a face glowing with enthusiasm 
and courage. Step out like men, acquit your- 
selves as true servants of the King and all will 
be well. Stay, let me go first, and perchance if 
I lead, others may find heart to follow.” 

So put to shame by the brave demeanor of 
this mere stripling, who was but a recruit in the 
ranks of the King, these older pilgrims, with a 



132 


THE PILGRIM GUILD. 


manifest effort, set themselves to mount the Hill 
of Difficulty. 

Your little feet are very weary, my child,” 
said the Guardian Angel of Angelo, tenderly. 
And bending over him. Faith lifted the slight 
frail figure in his arms, and bore it onwards as 
gently as a loving mother carries her infant. 

Angelo looked up into the Angel’s face and 
smiled, a confident, loving smile. 

It is so good to rest,” he said, contentedly. 

A trembling voice called after them. It was 
the voice of Much Afraid. 

Oh, do not leave me, do not leave me ! ” she 
cried. The mere sight of this dreadful hill 
bows down my soul with terror. I know I can 
never, never reach its summit ! See the rocks lie 
strewn thick upon the Narrow Way ! How can I 
pass them, and I have no strength to lift them 
from my path. Ah ! I am lost, lost ! ” 

Poor soul,” said Faith, and turned back and 
took her shaking hand. You do indeed distress 
yourself for naught ! Have you forgotten how 
our King says ^ my strength is made perfect in 
weakness J Think you that He who has brought 


THE HILL OF DIFFICULTY. 133 

you so far will desert you now ? Hush your 
fears, Much Afraid, be calm. The King bids 
me never leave you, and surely I will lead you to 
the end.” 

So Much Afraid ceased trembling and looked 
up at the Guardian Angel and smiled, and albeit 
the smile was faint, there was an element of trust 
in it. 

It was wonderful to see how the stones -rolled 
from the path as Much Afraid drew near. Faith 
was always with her — an abiding presence — and 
at the mere flutter of his great white wings all 
obstacles melted, disappeared. 

It was plain to all beholders that the King was 
mindful of the timid pilgrim Much Afraid, for 
she encountered upon the Hill of Difficulty none 
of the troubles and temptations that beset her 
stronger companions. 

At noon-tide Angelo and Much Afraid rested 
for awhile on a rock by the wayside. 

I am not tired,” said the child, for Faith 
has carried me in his arms all the way. But it is 
good to stay here a little while, and you look 
weary, poor Much Afraid.” 


134 the pilgrim child. 

I am of such a doubting heart ! ’’ sighed the 
poor pilgrim. 

The King never fails those who trust in 
Him/’ Angelo said, very earnestly. He is the 
Helper of the helpless. 

“ ‘ We cannot trust Him as we would, 

So frets weak nature’s reckless mood 
To throw her peace away. 

But birds and flowerets round us preach 
And all the present evil, teach 
Sufficient for the day ! ’ 

Keep close to Faith, dear Much Afraid, and 
he will bring you to the Celestial City. Once 
within the Golden Gates you can never again know 
fear. Fear will he shut out with all that is sad 
and sinful.” 

So, guided by Faith, did little Angelo minister 
to the wants of this timid pilgrim, and a child’s 
simple words brought healing and hope to the 
weary heart. 

The afternoon was waning when the pilgrim 
band reached the summit of the great hill. 
Youth stopped short, drawing a long breath and 
pushed back the hair from his pale, tired face. 


TUE HILL OF DIFFICULTY. 135 

His feet were cut and bruised, his pilgrim's robe 
was torn in many places. But firmly in his 
strong right hand he held the King’s banner, and 
when it waved in the evening breeze all there 
could plainly read the inscription on it. 

Onward^ That was all. Just that one 
word Onward. 

Faith set Angelo down upon the grass which 
grew smooth and verdant upon the summit of 
the Hill of Difficulty. 

Here will we rest till the morning dawns,” 
said the Guardian Angel. This is a safe abid- 
ing place. It is called the Plain of Peace. Many 
and many a pilgrim band has pitched its camp 
here. Over yonder, lies the Valley of Rest. It 
is situated upon the banks of a river — a bright 
river named ^Jordan.’ And on the further side 
of that stream — never beholden of those who 
stand on this side but real, real — stands the City 
of the pilgrim’s quest — even the City Celestial. 
For you, my little one, the Narrow Way is well 
nigh ended ! ” 

Oh ! shall I, indeed — is it possible that I may 
see Him — the King in His Beauty ? ” Angelo’s 


136 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


childish voice trembled with awe, tears of very 
joy sprang to his blue eyes. 

And Faith answered very sweetly, very solemnly : 

It is written, ^ Blessed are the pure in heart : 
for they shall see GodJ ’’ 

The sunset glory faded from the western 
heavens, and long shadows began to fall over the 
smooth green grass. Presently, the birds hushed 
their evensong and so all was still in this quiet 
place. The night that followed, sapphire and 
silent, was most calm and fair — and with beau- 
teous brilliancy a myriad stars glittered in the far 
away sky. Angelo laid him down to rest, his 
sleeping place was the grass, his pillow a rough 
stone. The child wished for no softer couch. 
He was very happy. This Plain of Peace seemed 
to him a sweetly restful place. And he knew — 
for Faith had whispered the happy secret in his ear 
— that a countless host of Angels, invisible, but 
passing strong, watched above the pilgrim camp, 
and were specially watchful of the children. 

There was that star too, shining bright and 
white — the star he loved to call the Bethlehem 
Star, 


THE HILL OF DIFFICULTY. 137 

“ 0 lovely star ! 0 holy light ! 

Thy ways amid the dusky skies 
Have led the pilgrims of the night 
To where the Saviour lies.” 

So Angelo, committing liimself to tlie care of 
the Great Shepherd, who carries in His Own 
tender arms the little lambs of His fold, laid him 
down to rest upon the crest of the Hill of Diffi- 
culty. 




CHAPTER IX. 


A CROSS THAT PROVED A SHIELD. 

In every trouble look unto the end 
And take the cross to be thy constant friend.” 

The Divine Master. 

Poor wanderer of the world’s entangled wild ! 

There is an eye that marks thy lonely way ! 

A heart that loves thee as a cherished child ! 

A hand that waits to wipe thy tears away ! ’’ 

Anon. 

NCE at sunset time when all the 

world looked very sweet and 

peaceful there came up with 

Angelo another pilgrim child 

upon whose Aveary face was 

reflected none of the peace of the quiet evening. 

She Avas a golden-haired girl Avith Avistful 
( 138 ) 





A CROSS THAT PROVED A SHIELD. 139 

blue eyes. She looked very little and lonely 
walking alone on the steep Narrow Way, 
and Angelo’s tender heart went out to her at 
once. 

^^You are tired,” he said. I am so sorry. 
Take my hand. I’m not very strong or big, but 
maybe I can help you somewhat.” 

The girl took the proffered hand eagerly. 

You are very kind,” she said. Your cheer- 
ful voice has helped me already. I have come a 
long way — so it seems to me — and I fear I must 
go much further before I reach The Palace of the 
King ! But the Narrow Way is beautiful, look 
at the flowers, listen to the birds’ song. Poor 
little friend, why do you weep ? ” 

I weep,” she said, sadly, because I have such 
a heavy cross to bear. Sometimes I think it is 
quite the heaviest cross that was ever laid upon 
shrinking* human shoulders. It is so sore a bur- 
den that I scarce can walk. I can never run like 
the other pilgrims. I can never sing on my way 
as thev often sing. This terrible cross seems to 
bow me down physically and mentally. It seems 
to crush all the joy out of my life ! ” 


140 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


The speaker’s tears fell fast. Her voice was 
broken with sobs. 

Angelo looked up at this Guardian Angel. 

How shall I comfort her ?” he asked^ dis- 
tressed. 

Faith’s gentle face was full of pity and love. 

She is blind/’ he said. Her eyes are holden. 

I will take her other hand and you shall help me 
lead her to the Mirror of Truth? ” 

You will let Faith guide you,” said Angelo 
to the girl. 

Faith ! what a beautiful name ! ” she exclaimed. 

Yes, little friend, since you wish it, he shall 
guide me. I cannot see him, but I can feel 
his hand, and it is a strong and helpful 
hand.” 

The sun had well-nigh set when the Guardian 
Angel and the two children stood before the 
Mirror of Truth. It was a still, clear lake, girt 
about with water-lilies, white, fragrant, golden- 
hearted, set in soft green leaves. The lake was as 
clear as glass and on its smooth surface was re- 
flected the pale blue sky with its western glory 
of rosy sunset, and the dark pine trees and the 


A CROSS THAT PROVED A SHIELD. 141 

quiet hills and the flight of homing birds, and 
in the foreground the white- winged, beautiful 
Angel and the two little pilgrims. 

See, there is the reflection of the cross you 
bear, the cross that fills you with so much sorrow,’’ 
said Faith, laying a gentle hand upon the shoulder 
of the sad-faced girl. 

The two children looked with eager eyes into 
the Mirror of Truth and beheld a very wonderful 
thing, for lo ! the cross beneath which the little 
pilgrim had pined was no cross at all, but a beau- 
tiful shield set with the purest jewels. And this 
shield was dented and scarred in many places, 
showing how it had warded off and turned 
aside the fiery darts of the enemy. 

When the weeping pilgrim saw this, her tears 
ceased to flow and an expression of wondering 
relief lit up all her face. 

Oh how ungrateful I have been ! ” she cried, 
how ungrateful ! And often, often have I be- 
sought the King to take away my cross, and have 
murmured because He did it not. And now I 
thank Him because He would not grant my 
prayer ! For this is no cross at all, but a shield 


142 


THE PILGRIM CHILI). 


‘ — a shield most wondrous that has saved me from 
destruction.” 

So is it/’ said the Angel Faith, with many a 
pilgrim. The cross he carries is no cross but a 
shield of salvation ; were his eyes not holden his 
murmurs of discontent would be turned to songs 
of praise.” 



CHAPTER X. 


A LITTLE WANDERER. 

“ The surest truth is the truth you know, 

That, where you plant Purity, Peace will grow. ’ 

“ Make thou my spirit pure and clear 
As are the frosty skies, 

Or this first snowdrop of the year 
That in my bosom lies.” 

Tennyson. 


NGELO was awakened by the sound 

of weeping — a child’s weeping. 

It was very early morning, the 

shades* of night were hut lifting 

from the gray hill and dark valley. 

In the far eastern sky, was just one bar of clear 

pale golden light, the herald of dawui. 

Who is it ? Who is crying ? ” asked Angelo, 

( 143 ) 



144 


TUE PILGBIM CHILD. 


sitting up on the grass and looking about him 
with startled blue eyes. 

A boy stood at his side, a boy of about his 
own age — a trifle older, perhaps. He was a 
pretty boy with thick brown, curling hair, and a 
fair little face, but his eyelids were swollen with 
weeping and his cheeks bathed in tears. And 
Angelo saw that his pilgrim’s dress was covered 
with mud. 

Have you hurt yourself ? ” he asked, 
kindly. 

Oh, it is not that,” sobbed the other child. 

It’s not that. It isn’t the hurt I’m thinking of, 
it’s the mud — the mud on my pilgrim’s robe. 
My Guardian Angel bid me keep to the Narrow 
Way, but I — I saw a lovely golden butterfly — so 
beautiful ! oh so beautiful ! And I wanted to 
catch it. I gave chase and the insect flew away 
from the path — from the Narrow Way. I 
thought I should have it in a moment, so I fol- 
lowed. But in an instant it was far away and I 
after it — far from the narrow path. Presently 
my hand closed on it, and I uttered a cry of joy. 
But do you know, when I came to examine my 




The boy broke into yet more bitter weeping. 


p. 147. 


A LITTLE WANDEREE. 


147 


prize, the golden butterfly had changed into a dull 
gray moth — of a most common sort. And then, 
when I looked about me I saw that I was in a 
strange place, and nowhere could I see the narrow 
path. All day I stumbled on, searching for the 
road by which I had come in pursuit of the 
butterfly. But about me Avere tangled bushes, 
and muddy, trackless ways. I often stumbled 
and fell. My clean robe was covered with mud. 
My heart was filled with despair.- It Avas evening 
when at last I got back on to the Narrow Way. 
All the other pilgrims had gone on. I had to 
climb the Hill of Difficulty alone. I have but 
just arrived here at the summit. And now, look 
at my robe — pray look at it ! It is covered Avith 
mud, and I have read — aye, and have often been 
told — that there can enter into the City Celestial 
naught that defileth.” 

The boy broke into yet more bitter weeping. 
Worn out, he sank down upon the grass by the 
side of Angelo and covered his tear-stained face 
with his hands. 

After a moment he spoke again. 

Don’t you remember the hymn,” he said in 

lO 


148 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


a hopeless voice. Oh it’s always, always ring- 
ing in my ears. 

“ ‘ There is a City bright 
Closed are its gates to sin, 

Naught that defileth, 

Naught that defileth 
Can ever enter in ! ’ 

“ Look at my robe ! It is covered with mud. 
Oh, when I get to the City Gates they will be 
closed against me, I know, I know they will ! ” 

Angelo took his hand and spoke very earnestly. 

You need not weep, poor boy,” he said. 

You are sorry. That is enough. It tells us in 
the Bible that the white robed multitude who 
worship before the Throne, have ^ washed their 
rohes, and made them white’ You too can 
wash your robe.” 

^^I have tried,” answered the boy, ‘^but no 
water will remove the stains.” 

I know a very sweet, hopeful hymn, which 
may help you,” said Angelo. And in a low and 
reverent voice he repeated these lines. 

“ ‘ There is a fountain filled with blood 
Drawn from Emmanuel’s veins, 

And sinners plunged beneath that flood, 

Lose all their guilty stains.’ ” 


A LITTLE WANDERER. 


149 


But who will lead me to the fountain, for I 
cannot find my way alone ? ’’ cried the boy, 
anxiously. 

I will lead you,” said the angel called Faith. 
Beautiful and gracious, with strong white wings 
and outstretched, pitiful hands, he stood before 
the two children. Put your hand into mine,” 
he said to the boy with the soiled robe, and I 
will show you the way to the fountain. No sin 
is too dark to be washed away therein. It cleans- 
eth from all sin.” 

But the boy shrank back, hanging his 
head. 

Oh ! it is an Angel and — and I am fright- 
ened because I have been naughty,” he whispered 
to Angelo. 

But you are sorry,” said Angelo, gently. 

Yes, yes. I am sorry — but — but. Oh, I 
have been so naughty ! ” 

The repentant boy hid his face in his hands 
and sobbed. 

The dawn was breaking. The bar of pale 
gold in the eastern sky had broadened and deep- 
ened. A rosy light flooded the heavens and the 


150 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


earth. The first glow of sunrise trembled on the 
hills. 

Suddenly there came to the two children a 
sound of many voices singing. The singing was 
such as they had never heard before. Awe and 
wonder and delight, filled their hearts. They 
listened, entranced. And these were the words 
of hope and love that swept up over the valley 
with the light of day-dawn, and seemed specially 
suited to the needs of one little, conscience-stricken 
soul, 

“ When penitence has wept in vain 
Over some foul dark spot, 

One only stream, a stream of blood 
Can wash away the blot. 

“ ’Tis Jesus’ blood that washes white. 

His hand that brings relief. 

His heart that’s touched with all our joys, 
And feeleth for our grief.’’ 

As the sun in all his glory, his panoply of gold 
and gray, and ruddy red, rose behind the gray 
hills, and the first birds chirped drowsily among 
the trees, the singing softly died away. There 
followed a few chords as from a silver-strinsred 

O 

harp — soft, sympathetic, feeling, and then all 
grew still. 


A LITTLE WANDEREE. 


151 


The Angels were singing,” said Angelo, 
looking at his little companion with an expression 
o£ wondering awe, They brought you a mes- 
sage from the King. He knew your repentance 
and grief, and sent you comfort. He is very 
mindful of His Own.” 

I am afraid no longer,” said the boy with the 
soiled robe. I pray you, gentle Angel, lead me 
on to the fountain where I may be cleansed from 
the dreadful stain of sin.” 

Faith took the outstretched little hand, and 
met the trustful, childish eyes with a glance that 
was loving and calm and full of reassurance. 

The Angel’s response fell full and clear upon 
the stillness of the dawn : 

^‘The hlood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth 
us from all sinJ^ 





d r *' 'f 

lark ! )|era(el 



y 


CHAPTER XI. 


AT THE GATES OP THE CITY CELESTIAL. 

“And then me thought earth faded ; 

I rose, as borne on wings, 

Beyond the waste of ruined lives 
The press of human things. 

% 

And upward, onward, shone the star 
Until it seemed to me 
It flashed upon the Golden gates 
And o’er the crystal sea ; 

And then — the gates rolled backward, 

I stood where Angels trod. 

It was the star of Bethlehem 
Had led me up to God ! ” 

■ F. E. Weatherley. 


T was winter time when at the end 
of a long and hard day’s march the 
pilgrim hand arrived at the Village 
of Rest, that quiet and sheltered 
which lies between the 


village 

Plain of Peace and the great river Jordan. 
( 152 > 



AT THE GATES OF THE CITY CELESTIAL. 153 

The snow lay thick upon hill and valley, and 
icicles hung from the trees. Men said it was a 
harder winter than had been known for many 
years. 

Angelo’s limbs ached and his lightly shod feet 
were chilled to numbness. But his brave little 
heart never failed him for one instant. Only he 
held the firm hand of Faith in a yet closer grasp 
and gazed more often upon the calm, reassuring 
face of his Guardian Angel. 

It is not for long,” Faith said. Only a 
little while — quite a little while.” 

And,” said Angelo, the Holy Child came 
by this very way my feet are treading. He 
knows all about it. He was weary too.” 

So through the wintry world by snow-bound 
ways, and paths all slippery with ice, passed 
unhurt this innocent little child. 

Oh what a power has white simplieity ! ” 

Evening was closing in, when the tired way- 
farers, chilled and footsore and well nigh 
exhausted, entered this pleasant hamlet called 
Rest. From every cottage door the inhabitants 
ran out to welcome them with hospitable greet- 


154 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


ings and hearty congratulations. The reception 
was indeed cheering. 

Your march is well-nigh over/’ they said. 

The worst is passed. And here you may 
rest awhile secure, before you cross the river 
yonder.” 

I fain would cross the river even now, for 
beyond it lies the Celestial City ! ” cried Youth, 
full of impatience and enthusiasm. 

But one pilgrim who was called by the name 
of True Heart, answered him gently, We 
must each wait for the one clear call. So the 
King wills it.” 

The Village of Best was decorated as though 
for a festival. Bunches and garlands of the 
most rare and beautiful hothouse flowers, filled 
every cottage window. A hundred rosy-hued 
lamps were suspended from the fir trees that 
grew straight and tall in rows on either side of 
the principal street. Happy bands of children 
walked hither and thither singing the sweetest 
hymns they knew. Upon every face was a smile 
of peace and love. 

The Church bells were ringing out a glorious, 


AT THE QATES OF THE CITY CELESTIAL. 155 

melodious chime, filling the keen, clear air with 
sweetest music. 

It was all very bright and beautiful. 

Are you keeping some festival ? ’’ Angelo 
asked a village lad. And with a wondering look 
the boy answered : Surely you know this is 

Christmastide ? We are keeping the Birthday of 
our King. On this sacred night, many and many 
a year ago, the Holy Child was horn at Bethle- 
hem City and the Star of Hope pierced the dark- 
ness of Despair. 

“ ‘ Little Silver Lamps in a distant Shrine 
The stars are sparkling bright ; 

The bells of the City of God ring out, 

For the Son of Mary was born to-night. 

The gloom is past and the morn at last 
Is coming with Orient light ! ’ ” 

Christmas Day ! The Birthday of the Holy 
Child ! repeated Angelo beneath his breath. 
His little face flushed, his blue eyes shone. Oh, 
it is all so beautiful to think of ! ’’ he cried. 

To think that the King was once a little child — 
a little child living upon earth.” 

The villagers led the wearied pilgrims into 
their comfortable cottages and set them down to 


156 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


rest by homely firesides, and set before them 
homely fare that was all their best. It seemed 
these inhabitants of the place called Rest could 
never make too much of the pilgrim band. There 
was a welcome for each and for all, from Youth 
with his handsome looks, and bright confident 
face, to timid Much Afraid and the little child 
Angelo. The boy who had wept over his mud- 
soiled robe was welcome too, and his dress was one 
of the whitest there, while the face that had been 
all stained with tears was bright and happy. 
And perhaps most welcome of all the pilgrims 
was the White Lady, for the fame of her gentle, 
self-forgetting, patient life, had gone before her 
to the Village of Rest — whispered by some Herald 
Angel — and the villagers were glad to show 
hospitality to one so good and noble. When she 
sat by the fire the little children gathered about 
her, of their own sweet accord, and she talked 
to them and told them stories as only a lover of 
children can, and Angelo thought it was very 
sweet to see the confidence between them. 

Stealing away from his companions as they 
crowded about a hospitable fire, the little Prince 


AT THE GATES OF THE CITY CELESTIAL. 157 

went out once more into the wintry night. The 
music of the Church bells called him, and he 
could but respond to the sweet, constant call. 
His hand in that of Faith he passed up the snowy 
street between the tall fir trees past merry chil- 
dren singing carols, past open doorways through 
which he caught more than one glimpse of a happy 
homely domestic scene, on and on, till he reached 
the great, beautiful Church that stood gray 
and majestic beneath the sapphire, starlit 
sky. 

The little tired feet hurried through the big 
arched porch, and through the carved doorway, 
and then with slackened speed and reverently- 
bent head, the child crept into one of the big 
old-fashioned pews of the nave. 

It was a most beautiful Church. Above the 
altar with its plain gold cross and rare white 
flowers, was a marble reredos of exquisite loveli- 
ness, representing a white-winged Angelic host, 
worshipping at the manger bed of the Holy 
Child. The figure of the Infant Saviour in His 
mother’s arms, had been carved by the reverent 
hand of a genius. Such a loving, tender face it 


158 THE PILGRIM CHILD. 

was, SO indescribably pure, so infinitely / 

One could fancy those gentle lips framing words 
of forgiveness and of hope. 

Come unto me all ye that labor and are 
heavy laden^ and I will give you rest^ . . . 

Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast 
out. . . Peace he unto yoiH* 

One could imagine those gracious hands ex- 
tended in blessing or in succoring the timid and 
stumbling ! 

It was a very beautiful figure, the figure of 
One Little Child in whom is embodied the Great 
Majesty, the Great Love . . . Alpha and Omega, 
the Beginning and the End. Looking upon it 
Angelo said in his heart : 

I feel sure that the Lord Jesus loves little 
children.” 

That was the effect of that rare sculpture upon 
the mind of one simple child. And if it worked 
no more good — no less — was this not enough to fill 
with joy and thankfulness the heart of the genius 
whose hand had formed it? 

There were many people in the Church — ^men 
and women and little children. 


AT THE GATES OF THE CITY CELESTIAL. 159 

To them it was a haven of rest, an oasis in the 
desert. 

“ The Courts of Heav’n were lost to view, 

The world had come between : 

But here the veil is rent in two ; 

We see the things unseen.” 

Gladly the pilgrims joined in Prayer and 
Praise. 

But on this holy night the vast congregation 
stood silent to hear one boy sing, a boy whose 
clear sweet voice alone sustained the Christmas 
Anthem. 

It was a marvellous voice, melodious, soaring, 
perfectly true. The aspiring notes rising sweet 
and birdlike, echoed along the painted roof, 
ringing through carved arch and dim, gray clear 
storey, to die away into solemn silence in the 
deep embrasure of the west window — a wonder- 
ful window of rich stained glass, where in the 
shades of night hid saintly faces and figures 
rarely beautiful. 

It was a voice that entranced, enthralled. 
The listening multitude scarcely seemed to breathe. 
Silent and motionless stood the crowd of wor- 
shippers. 


160 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


And of all there was none more aeeply im- 
pressed than Angelo. The eager little face, 
the clasped hands, the wondering eyes all be- 
tokened the i^nre emotion awakened in his baby 
breast. 

The Anthem was called Nazareth,” and set 
forth the story of the coming of the Holy Child, 
the story of the Angelic host bringing glad tid- 
ings, of worshipping shepherds, of one clear 
shining star — the Star of Bethlehem. 

Oh come, come and adore ! ” cried the sweet 
clear voice. Oh come, come and adore ! ” 
And the words floated away across the great dim 
Church and the listening multitude, lingered 
amid the shadows of the gray arches and pillars, 
and then with an echo that was like the murmur 
of a long-drawn, sobbing sigh died in sweet 
silence — a silence that quivered and vibrated with 
the memory of a melody. 

There came into the child-mind of Angelo the 
remembrance of some words he had once heard 
or read. They seemed to him at that moment to 
express a great truth : 

^^It is good to be children sometimes, and 


AT THE GATES OF THE CITY CELESTIAL. IGl 

never better than at Christmas, when its Mighty 
Founder was a Child Himself/’ 

A Child Himself ! Ah ! that was so good to 
think on. A Child Himself ! He, the King, had 
trodden all the Narrow W ay, had known a child’s 
sorrow, a child’s suffering. And He never could 
forget, there was infinite love and pity for children 
with Him — who was once a child. 

When the Anthem was over and the choir 
took up the singing of hymn and psalm, Angelo 
waited to hear no more hut softly stole doAvn the 
dim, arched nave and out through the porch into 
the starry night. 

A great peace filled the heart of the little pil- 
grim. He was perfectly happy. 

Looking up into the gentle face of the Guard- 
ian Angel who walked beside him, he said very 
gravely and earnestly, 

I wish the Holy Child would come to-night 
as He came at that first Christmastide long ago ! 
I should so love to see Him I ” 

And Faith answered sweetly, solemnly! Yet 
a little while, cind he that shall come %oill come, 
and will not tarry. Blessed are the pure in 


162 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


heart : for they shall see God, . . . We shall 
see him as he is. . . . Thine eyes shall see the 
King in His heauty. 

Most beautiful was this Christmas night. The 
silvery moonlight flooded field and vale and hill, 
that, robed in a livery of untrodden snow, looked 
passing pure and lovely. The sapphire vault 
above was studded with stars, 

“Those pearls of Heaven, thick-strung together, 

Dropped clustering from His hand o’er all the sky.” 

Angelo with wondering upturned face said : 

Perhaps they’re the bright eyes of Angels 
looking down kindly on little children.” 

And then he stopped to listen, for some village 
lads were gathered about the open door of a cot- 
tage home, and they were singing a carol very 

“ The night was darker than ever before 
(So dark is sin) 

When the Great Love came to the stable door 
And entered in. 

And laid himself in the breath of kine, 

And the warmth of hay. 

And whispered to the star to shine. 

And to break, the day. 



AT THE GATES OF THE CITY CELESTIAL. 163 


O flowers, underneath the snow, 

That chilled His feet 

As He passed by, did ye not know 
His footsteps sweet ? 

O birds, whose voice He gave to sing, 
How came it that, 

In the passing Presence of the Spring, 
Ye silent sat ? 

O Judah, with your scriptures great. 
Had you forgot ? 

The Messiah passed within your gate, 
And ye knew it not ! 

O Bethlehem, for all, all men 
The House of Bread, 

The Great Love came at midnight there 
And was not fed.” 


The singing ceased, and the singers passed on. 
Angelo looked up wistfully at his Guardian 
Angel. When the King comes again, all men 
will know him, ” he said. He will not be a 
little child any more, but a great monarch. Only 
I think it’s a mistake about the birds and the 
flowers,” he added, thoughtfully. I’m sure they 
would know the Great Love, they would feel His 
presence in their hearts ! ” 

You are weary and must rest, little one,” 


164 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


Faith presently told his chargee. Turn in at this 

open cottage door and you will find a welcome.” 

Angelo paused in the doorway. A woman sat 
at the low-burning fire. Her face though young 
was sad and weary. Hers was a very lonely figure, 
the child thought, strangely lonely on this glad 
night when all the world seemed joyful. 

May I come and warm myself by your fire ? ” 
he said. 

His sweet young voice echoed across the little 
dim room. The woman started to her feet and 
came to meet him. 

Come in, darling, come in,” she said. You 
are one of the pilgrims who have just arrived, and 
you are very welcome. But this is a poor place. 
You might be better housed.” 

Faith bid me come here,” answered Angelo, 
simply. . And indeed this is a nice cottage, and 
you have such a kind face. ... I am glad to 
come.” 

Dear little child,” said the woman. I have 

been feeling very sad and solitary this evening. 

I tliink the King sent you to banish my lonelb 
?» 


ness. 


AT THE GATES OF THE CITY CELESTIAL. 165 

She lifted him into her great armchair — the 
only easy-chair her poor room contained, and she 
brought him soup and bread — her own frugal 
supper. As she ministered to his wants her pale 
cheeks flushed and her tired eyes shone with a 
new brightness. 

You are a guest from the King,” she said. 

It is written : ^ Inasmuch as ye have done it 
unto one of the least of these my hrethreyi, ye 
have done it unto meJ ” 

I have read it in my little Bible,” responded 
Angelo. He drew from his pocket the much- 
worn brown book, the old minstrel’s gift. 

It is full of beautiful promises,” he exclaimed. 

Yes,” said the woman, quickly. I know — 
I know. It has been the guide of my life. The 
King has been pleased to make my life a singularly 
lonely one, little child, but He has never left me 
comfortless.” 

And now you dwell safely in the calm Village 
of Rest.” 

Until the day break and the shadows flee 
awayfl she answered, a quiet smile lighting up her 
pale face. And now my heart is full of hope. 


166 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


for I know and believe : ^ One hour of eternity ^ 
one moment with the Lord, will make us utterly 
forget a lifetimes desolation' " 

All ! Faith has been your Guardian Angel. 
I can tell that by your words, your looks ! ” cried 
Angelo, joyfully. 

And the woman said : It is indeed so : Faith 
has never left me for one instant of all the weary 
time. I prayed the King that his presence might 
abide with me, and my prayer was granted.” 

“ He has said : ^ Ask and it shall he given 
you.' And it is written in the Holy Book, ‘Let 
us therefore come holdly unto the throne of 
grace,' responded Angelo. 

Ah ! your words remind me of my own little 
child — a hoy like you. He ... he was very 
dear to me,” said the woman, after a few moments’ 
silence. But the King took him last Christmas- 
tide — just a year ago this day — to the Celestial 
City. In the silent night while we rested, the 
Angel of sleep came silently and lifted my child 
in his arms, and bore him away over the snow- 
clad fields and the great dark river. When morn- 
ing dawned my darling was not there to awaken 


AT THE GATES OF THE CITY CELESTIAL. 167 

me with his baby kisses and his loving call of 
^ Mother/ that word so sweet to my ears.” The 
woman paused, weeping. He was so — so very 
dear I ” she then cried tremulously. 

He is waiting for you at the gates of the 
City Celestial/’ Angelo told her, his little hand 
gently touching her bowed head. Faith tells 
me he will never forget you, and soon — very soon, 
you will be together again.” 

Dear little comforter ! ” she looked at him 
gratefully. 

Perhaps I shall see your boy before you see 
him,” said Angelo, with sweet gravity. Shall 
I give him any message from you ? ” 

Oh,” she cried, tell him I am taking care 
of his little garden — the flowers he treasured, and 
that the primroses grew sweet and thick in it last 
spring. He so loved primroses ! And tell him — 
but ah, you need not tell him how his mother 
always loves him ! . . . how she misses her 
darling.” 

Angelo was very tired. Gladly he laid himself 
down to rest in the humble guest-room of his poor 
hostess. The bare walls, the carpetless floor, the 


168 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


uncurtained narrow lattice window, from which 
he could gaze at the wintry star-lit sky, were 
humble enough. A poor guest-room most people 
would have called it. But Angelo, a Prince from 
the Palace of Pleasure, was well content. The 
children of the King never shrink from humble 
surroundings and poor, for the Holy Child Him- 
self once lived in a humble, poor home at Nazareth. 

The poor woman downstairs, with a new sense 
of hope and comfort in her heart, and a blessing 
for her child-visitor upon her lips, opened a book 
and read, and these were the words her eager eyes 
scanned : 

“ I am strong 

Knowing you are not lost for aye among 

The hills with last year’s thrush. God keeps a niche 

In Heaven to hold our idols : and albeit 

He brake them to our faces and denied 

That our close kisses should impair their white 

I know we shall behold them raised complete, 

The dust swept from their beauty, glorified 
New Memnons singing in the great God-light.” 


God keeps a niche in Heaven to hold our idols! 
Oh words most sweet, most sweet ! 

Tired although he was, little Angelo could not 
sleep. With wakeful eyes and heart he lay upon 


AT THE GATES OF THE CITY CELESTIAL. 169 

his humble couch, watching the countless stars, 
listening to the music of the sweet Church bells. 

From the snowy street below, rang up clear 
and fresh joyous young voices, the voices of chil- 
dren. It was early yet — scarcely more than even- 
ing — and all the world kept a glad Christmas-tide. 
Snatches of sweet hymns, chords of sacred music 
floated from time to time to the little child, alone 
in his humble attic-room. Alone ? Nay, not 
alone. Faith was with him— an ever abiding 
presence, and Angelo knew no loneliness. 

The Holy Child is very near to-night,” he 
thought, happily. Perhaps — for who can tell 
— I may if I listen very hard, hear His voice 
above the music of the bells and the children’s 
song ! ” 

W ell might this little pilgrim have echoed the 
words of one thoughtful poet : 

“ Sweet is the time for joyous folk 
Of gifts and minstrelsy, 

Yet I, O Lowly Hearted One 
Crave but thy company ! 

On lonesome road beset with dread 
My questing lies afar, 

I have no light, save in the east 
The gleaming of Thy Star.” 


170 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


A lonesome road and a far quest, but not an 
endless way nor a hopeless ! And the- Star ? It 
shines now as clear and bright as on that first 
Christmas night when it first gleamed from out 
the wintry Heaven. The eyes of Faith can 
always behold it. From the clear upturned gaze 
of childhood — innocent, pure-hearted childhood 
— it is never hidden. 

Angelo lay thinking of the Holy Child, and of 
how the angels must be keeping his birthday in the 
Celestial City, and his thoughts were holy happy 
thoughts. Through his childish mind echoed the 
musical memory of the anthem the boy had sung 
in the beautiful Church. Oh come and adore 
— Oh come and adore! ” These words seemed 
repeated in the children’s carols, in every dim and 
gentle far-off sound of the quiet, starry night. 

Presently — not suddenly, nor with astonish- 
ment, but gradually and quite peacefully, Angelo 
became aware of a new presence in that humble 
room — an Angel presence, white-winged, radiant, 
lovely, with a golden halo about its gracious head, 
and a smile sweet as that of Faith upon its beauti- 
ful face. 


AT THE GATES OF THE CITY CELESTIAL. 171 

I am the Angel of Love/’ softly said a voice, 
a gentle voice that sounded like most exquisite 
music. The King has sent me to fetch you, 
little one. His gracious will it is that you shall 
keep the Birthday of the Holy Child in the City 
Celestial.” 

So that one clear call, that must come to each 
and all of us sooner or later, came in the sweet 
solemnity of the Christmas night to this little 
pilgrim. And Angelo, gladly, aye, joyously 
stretched out his baby hands to the beautiful 
Angel of Love, being quite ready to depart to 
that bourne from which no traveller returns, and 
having no faintest fear of the far land that lies 
beyond our mortal ken. Indeed his heart was 
filled with wondering joy. Happiness almost in- 
credible was his ! 

It was the gracious will of the King that he, 
Angelo a very simple, small pilgrim, should keep 
the Birthday of the Holy Child within the gates 
of the City Celestial ! Oh tidings most rare, most 
sweet ! 

It was the gracious will of the King that he — 
even he — little Angelo ! should stand among the 


172 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


white-robed throng, one of the redeemed children 
who, their pilgrimage o’er, rest for ever in the 
Presence of their Saviour ! Oh thought most 
glad, most precious ! 

His pilgrimage was done. The Narrow Way 
his little feet had so patiently trodden was ended. 

And after all, had it not been a very short 
way ? 

“ . . . . What if the bread 
Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod 
To meet the flints ? At least it may be said, 
Because the way is short I thank Thee, God ! ” 

He had not thought to find it so short. 
Visions of long and weary marches through 
deserts arid and scorching, and by-ways rugged 
and bleak, had sometimes vexed his childish soul. 
It had not always been easy to remember : 

Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof 

And now — quite suddenly — it was all over ; 
the stumbling little feet would stumble no longer, 
the little heart would never again grow weary. 
The goal was reached and behind him — only 
a far memory — stretched the Narrow Way that 
had once seemed so endless. 


AT THE GATES OF THE CITY CELESTIAL. 173 

I am SO glad to go to the City Celestial,” 
said the little child. Only — what of the other 
pilgrims ? There is Much Afraid, I do not like 
to leave her, for she is very timid and has found 
comfort from my company. And there is my 
White Lady, whom I love . . . she is often weary. 
May not these come with me, dear Angel ? ” 

Each pilgrim must go alone across the great 
river that separates Time from Eternity,” was 
the solemn answer. Yet not alone,” added the 
Angel of Love, very gently, for One is with 
them who says : the souls of the righteous are 
in the hand of God ! ” 

The King Himself is with them ? ” softly 
questioned Angelo, his young voice awed and 
quiet. 

^^Even so. Fear not for your friends, dear 
child. Much Afraid is already safe within the 
City Celestial. The Angel of Sleep bore her 
thither a few hours since, and lying unconscious 
in the arms of that gentlest messenger of Death 
she passed without fear over the dark waters. 
So hath our King provided for her peace, know- 
ing her fearful heart and being ever mindful of 


174 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


His own. For her whom you call The White 
Lady^ her time is not yet. But even that is not 
far off . . . her work is well nigh done. And 
she is strong — strong with the strength of Faith 
and Purity. You need not fear for her.” 

So when the Angel of Love lifted this weary 
little pilgrim into his arms, Angelo was ready to 
depart to the City Celestial, and the bands that 
bound him to earth dropped from his baby 
shoulders as the chrysalis falls from the wings of 
a beautiful butterfly. 

Out from that poor narrow cottage room into 
the grand starry night, sped the Angel of Love 
on strong white wings, bearing very tenderly his 
little fragile burden. 

“ Beyond the waste of ruined lives, 

The press of human things, 

Beyond the toil and shadow 
Above the w^ant and woe.” 

And to the listening, enlightened heart of An- 
gelo came with the fullest chords of triumphant 
ecstasy, the great voice of Nature — the voice of 
bird and flower and rippling stream, the voice of 
every created thing — singing the wondrous 


AT THE GATES OF THE CITY CELESTIAL. 175 

Christmas song — the song of the Great Love 
Who left his Throne in Heaven to live on earth 
in the form of a little Child. 

The heavens declare the glory of God ; and 
the firmament sheweth his handyworkT 

‘ ‘ Hark through the silent night 
Angelic voices swell 
Their joyful songs, proclaim that God 
Is born on earth to dwell.” 

Mortal eyes may not follow the white-winged 
flight of the Angel of Love, the last short journey 
of one little pilgrim. Mortal eyes may not be- 
hold The light that never shone on earth or 
sea/’ that light which flows forth in a glorious 
golden flood from the open gates of the City 
Celestial. They must droop and grow dim, these 
mortal eyes, could they gaze but one moment 
upon the snowy robes of the redeemed children 
as they throng to greet this little child, who is to 
be one of their glad number. And the music of 
those harps of gold ? We may never hear it 
this side of Jordan. No faintest echo of the 
melody of Heaven can steal across the shadows 
that divide Time from Eternity. 


176 


THE PILGRIM CHILD. 


When morning dawned in the Village of Rest 
it was told among the pilgrims how one of their 
number, Angelo, a Prince from the Palace of 
Pleasure, had, in the silence of the night, while 
they still slept, passed away across the wide river. 
And many were sorry when they knew that the 
bright presence of the frail little comrade they 
had learned to love, had been removed from 
among them. 

Though fragile and weak, he was always so 
full of faith and hope,” they said ; his songs 
would often cheer us on our way.” 

Only the White Lady did not mourn, for to 
her, in the silence of dawn, had come a gentle 
vision — the vision of her child-friend, who, stoop- 
ing from the arms of the Angel of Love, lightly 
kissed her quiet brow, and laying one sweet 
blossom of hope on her pillow, whispered : Yet 
a little while ! ” 

She stretched out her hand to take his — in 
vain. She was alone. The vision had quickly — 
almost instantaneously — faded. Some people 
might liave regarded it as a dream. But with 
the White Lady, it left a sense of peace and joy 


AT THE GATES OF THE CITY CELESTIAL. 177 

inexpressible. Yet a little while ! ” she read 
aright, little wliile^ and he that shall come 


will come, and will not tarry. . . . Thine eyes 
shall see the King in Ills heauty : . There 


remaineth therefore a rest to thegyeogfle of GodT 

And lo ! as she thought of the little friend 
who had gone before one touched her on the 
shoulder, and she turned to see the Angel called 
Faith who had walked with the child all the way. 

Angelo begged me to come,’" he gently said. 

And I have promised him to stay with you to 
the end. ... it will not be far.’’ 

With great gladness, she put her hand into 
that of the Guardian Angel who had led her 
child-comrade to Heaven. 

Faith is the soul’s best companion,” she said. 

A little child has taught me that lesson. If 
thou leavest me not, dear Angel, I must surely 
reach the Celestial City.” 

And Faith answered : It is the King’s will that 
I rest with thee, an abiding presence to the end.” 

So, his short way of life over, Angelo, a little 
pilgrim, went to spend the Birthday of the Holy 

Child in the City Celestial. 

12 


178 


tii:e pilgrim child. 


“ Not a shade of darkness there, no sin nor sorrow. 

All is Eternal Life and Light.” 

Lo, a great multitude, which no man could 
number, of all nations, and kindreds, and people, 
and tongues, stood before the throne, and before 
the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms 

in their hands These are they which 

came out of great tribulation, and have washed 
their robes, and made them white in the blood 
of the Lamb/’ 







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